Looking for More
by jennamajig
Summary: Mark reaches a pinnacle in his life and makes an interesting decision. Set PostRent. Chapter 30 up for those still following this story!
1. Chapter 1

**Pairing: **Roger/Mimi, Maureen/Joanne, but a Mark centric fic.  
**Summary: **Mark reaches a pinnacle in his life and makes an interesting decision. Set Post-Rent.  
**Notes:** This was written for challenge #44 over at speedrent on LJ. It could possibly be the first chapter of lengthy fic, or could stand alone, so any and all thoughts are appreciated. It was the bunny that just wouldn't die, so I do hope it stays in character.

**Disclaimer: **Rent is not mine. I only own the DVD, but that DVD is all mine.

* * *

_From facing your failure,  
facing your loneliness,  
facing the fact you live a lie..._

"I took the MCAT."

Conversation at the table stopped. His father held his fork mid air, and Mark almost wished he had his camera so he could get the complete look of shock on his father's face on film.

"You what, honey?" his mom asked.

"I took the MCAT," he repeated.

There was another moment of silence and Mark's gaze dropped to his plate. This was a bad idea. This was most definitely a very bad-

"Well, how did you do?" his father finally asked, laying his fork down on his plate.

Mark's eyes didn't move from his food. "Um...a 35."

"A 35?" his dad repeated. "Katherine, did you heard that? A 35." There was no denying the pride in his voice and Mark hated it. Hated the fact that he needed to do this to earn it.

Mark swallowed. The next part was the hardest part. The part he truly despised and the sentence that made him cringe every single time he thought about it during the train ride into Scarsdale. Only now, it would be worse. Now he'd have to say it out loud.

"Yeah...so..." He swallowed again, his throat dry. "I think I'm going to need some help."

Later all he'd remember was the smile on his father's face and how his mother jumped up out of her seat, declaring it a special occasion and even going as far to break open a bottle of wine. He sat, played with his food, listened to the happy chatter, the promises his father made and the connections he offered.

He smiled, knowing he needed this. He needed the connections. A good MCAT score wasn't all he needed to get into medical school and that reasoning was exactly why he'd come and why he'd asked.

And why a small part of him died inside.

He ignored it, pushed forward, drank a glass of wine to appease his mother, and made small talk. Said the right things. His father went out on and on about him taking over the practice and Mark simply nodded. He needed help; then, only then, could he disappoint his parents again. And oddly enough, he looked forward to that day.

That night he couldn't sleep. He tried to catch the late train back into the city, but his parents insisted he stay. So he did. He stayed and found himself wide awake at two a.m., sitting on the front porch in the house he grew up in, and wondering just what the hell he had gotten himself into.

He wanted this, he told himself. He needed this.

Roger needed this. Mimi needed this. Even Collins needed this.

He'd gone over it a hundred times, found it staring him in the face as he watched old reels of Angel, as he reviewed his finished film. He'd faced it with Mimi's latest scare, earning her a week in the hospital and new lines of fatigue on Roger's face.

Sure, films made a difference. They captured life, savored moments, brought smiles. But they only preserved the past, leaving the future wide open.

He loved his camera, loved staring through it and witnessing someone else's life, someone else's love, and someone else's triumph.

But Roger had put it best. _From facing your failure, facing your loneliness, facing the fact you live a lie..._ the words still haunted him almost a year later. He did hide. He hid from his own failures, from his own loneliness, not feeling because feeling hurt. Which was why he was here, why he needed to do this. He needed to grow up and be able to make a difference in his friend's lives, instead of filming their demises. Instead of hiding behind a lens and pretending everything was all right.

Because again, Roger had been right. He wasn't ready to be alone.

* * *

It happened innocently enough, really. He'd stopped at a Barnes and Noble near NYU when he passed the study aids section. He'd come to buy Collins a gift, pleased that he'd actually planned ahead and saved enough to splurge a little on his friend's birthday.

Mimi had just been released the day before from the hospital, surviving her second bought with pneumonia this year. Perhaps that was why he stopped, staring at the array of brightly colored guides for while.

He didn't buy one then. Instead, he bought Collins a book and found himself knee deep in the health and medical section, dragging book after book on AIDS over to a padded chair and reading.

He knew a lot about the disease already, he discovered. He'd been a biology major at Brown and always did all the talking at Roger's doctor's appointments. He was the one that read the pamphlets when Roger cast them aside. Picking up medical information had been fairly easy from the start as his father was a doctor, and had hoped he'd become one too. But Mark had dismissed that idea when he had followed Benny to New York to film instead.

There were newer treatments on the horizon, new hopes, and life spans were expanding. HIV, itself, wasn't a death sentence; it was the germs it opened the door to that were fatal. Something Mark had seen daily through his camera lens.

**Today 4 U** had made a difference, been shown here and there, becoming a sort of underground documentary and putting a bit of money into Mark's pocket. But he wanted to do more, so much more. After all, **Today 4 U** wasn't going to stop that fact that someday all his friends would be gone and he'd be alone with only a movie or two to remember them by.

He left the bookstore heavy in thought. That night they celebrated Collins' birthday at the loft, Mimi set up on the couch amid a pile of blankets while Collins blew out the candles on a cake that Maureen had made. As Roger joked about Maureen's baking skills and whether or not the cake was even eatable, Mark stole another glance at Mimi.

She was all smiles, offering her own gift to Collins and agreeing to try Maureen's creation, but Mark couldn't ignore the long bouts of coughing in between sentences.

He wanted to help his friends, his family. Whether it was for purely selfish reasons that he didn't want to admit or not, he wanted to do more. More than financing an AZT prescription and showcasing a reel full of vibrant memories.

Two days later, he counted his pennies and went back to the bookstore.

* * *

He spent hours locked up in his room, studying page after page. He dragged himself out to local libraries, and came back, telling Roger he had been filming. It was only a half-lie, really, he still filmed whenever he could, but he'd gotten a new idea in his brain and the determination he had wasn't about to wane.

After all this, if he succeeded, he could make an awesome film.

Scraping together the cash to take the test wasn't easy. Admission tests were expensive, especially when there were AZT prescriptions to worry about. But still, he managed, after cutting a few meals here and there, telling himself that soon, maybe, he could afford more, even providing Roger, Mimi, and Collins with the latest modern technology could offer.

If anyone noticed anything out of the ordinary with him, they didn't say a word. Mimi was healthy again, clean, and had finally quit her job at Cat Scratch Club, exchanging it for a job at the Life Cafe. She wasn't a wonderful waitress, in fact she was terrible if Mark was honest, always messing up orders, but her smile made up for her flaws and she hadn't gotten fired yet. Roger had just gotten his first solo gig at a tiny club in Soho. Collins was teaching again, tackling the City College of New York this time. Joanne was trying to make partner at her law firm, and Maureen...well, Maureen was Maureen, performing, auditioning, dragging Joanne and whoever else would come to another off-off-off Broadway show she'd managed to get a role in.

So he slipped through the cracks, yet again. But this time, he use it to his advantage.

He often wondered how he'd break the news to his friends, revealing his plan. Roger would call him a sellout, he was sure. That he was crazy and that this wasn't him and that he was doing exactly what he'd said he'd never do. But how would Roger know? Roger may be his best friend, but Roger hadn't known him forever. Maureen was the one who had known him the longest and the only one that had ever met his parents, knew why he'd come to New York. He wasn't sure what she'd say - she'd be pissed as well, he'd expect, but Maureen didn't dwell. No, that was his job.

Maybe he could never tell them.

He didn't have to, it turned out. Well, not all of them, at least.

The test was on a Saturday. Mark wasn't sure how he made it through it since the damn thing took nearly all day, but in the end, he did. Now all he had to do was wait.

He was heading out the door when he bumped into Joanne, literally.

"What are you doing here?" was the first thing she asked.

"I could ask you the same thing," he answered, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. He'd left his camera at the loft, so nervous that morning he was afraid he'd have dropped it if he had taken it with him.

"I'm meeting my boss," she answered. "Her daughter is taking the MCAT and we are all supposed to go to dinner. Part of the whole trying to make partner deal."

"Ah," he responded. "I was just walking by, stopped in to use the bathroom." He was surprised at how quickly the lie came and why he lied at all. Was he embarrassed?

"Uh huh." Joanne didn't sound convinced. "Mark, Maureen found your study guide at the loft."

"She what? That was in my room, how dare she invade my-" He stopped short, realizing he'd given himself away. "I mean, I-"

"Maureen is nosy as hell, and you and I both know it," Joanne interrupted. "She didn't tell anyone, except me. She thought it might have been left over from your college days, but she'd never seen it before. She was confused and we both know how Maureen gets when she's confused. But I convinced her it was your business and that she shouldn't have been snooping through your things in the first place. So don't worry, she isn't about to broadcast it to the free world."

"Um, well, thanks," he said softly, shuffling his feet.

"So, you know what I'm about to ask next, right?" She raised an eyebrow. "You really thinking about going back to school?"

"Would it be so bad if I was?" he shot back, feeling the sudden need to defend himself and his intentions.

"Calm down, Mark. Do you think, me, of all people, is about to tell you that going back to school is a bad thing?" Joanne offered him a smile and he relaxed. This was Joanne, the Joanne that went to law school and valued success and knew what it was like to have expectations.

"I'm just surprised," she admitted. "Maureen told me your father is a doctor and it's the last thing on earth you ever wanted to be."

"My father is in family practice and wanted me to join him. That was what I didn't want. I just..." He sighed. "Don't you need to catch up with your boss?"

"I have a couple of minutes," she answered. "You just what?"

"I just..." He took a moment, considering his words. "I want to help. I want to help Roger and Mimi and Collins. Movies are great, they get the message out there and I will never stop making them, but movies aren't going to keep people alive."

"Really? Never thought I'd hear that sentence from your mouth," Joanne responded. "Mark, you know you don't have to try and save-"

"The world?" he finished. "I know. I just want to help save my family. Is that any different from you taking on pro-bono cases? Cases like mine, in fact?"

She shook her head. "No." Down the hall, Mark heard someone call her name. "I have to go. But Mark?"

"Yeah?"

"Let me know how you did, at least."

He smiled. "Sure. You'll be the first to know."

* * *

She had been; he called her office and left a message on her machine, away from a certain person that might just hear it. He hung up the phone shortly after, knowing just what he needed to do next and dreading it.

That dinner had been his greatest nightmare.

His father made several calls the next day, piled Mark's lap with brochures, applications, and stack of names and numbers. All Mark could manage to get was the fact that he wanted to go to school in the city and that he didn't intend to move home.

"That would be too much to ask for wouldn't it?" his father had said as he drove Mark to the train station. "Your mother will be crushed, but what else is new? So...how is the city? You still living with..."

"Roger," Mark answered, filling in the blank. "Yes." He preferred to keep chatter to a minimum and almost cringed when they hit another red light. Just how many lights were there on the way to the train station?

"Huh." He rested his hands on the steering wheel. "You know you don't have much time to fill out applications and get recommendations if you've looking for fall admission. You need to call Andy-"

"Brightman when I get back into the city if I want him to write me a letter of rec," Mark finished, keeping his tone even. It was a necessary evil, networking with his father's friends to attain a long-term goal. He also had to reopen the lines of communication with a couple of professors at Brown as well. For a brief moment, he wondered if this was worth it.

The light changed and he told himself it was.

His father gave him a hug at the station, an awkward sign of affection that felt so out of place that Mark was sure even the strangers around him knew it.

He got on the train and found a seat, listening the sounds around him as they pulled away.

He wasn't his father and he never would be and that's exactly what he wanted.

He needed to tell himself that. That doing this wasn't following in his father's footsteps, that he was still taking his own path and that in the end it would a different family he'd come home to and a different sense of pride he'd feel.

His own.

* * *

After his visit to Scarsdale, he spent the first day filming and even showcased some of he latest stuff for Roger and Mimi. He had some good footage, even enough to market, perhaps. God knows he could use the cash.

School would be taken care of. His father had assured that, giving Mark no more excuses. Networking needed to be done and after a visit to his dad's pal Andy Brightman, and surprise, Mark even found himself a new job, working nearly thirty hours a week at Brightman's office.

However, the real surprise wasn't the job. It was Andy Brightman himself. Mark's mind had remembered the man as having a ritzy practice in midtown, servicing wealthy patients. But somehow no one had mentioned the free clinic Brightman helped run on the side. A clinic not at all unlike the one Roger went to and one that saw an influx of HIV and AIDS patients.

Had his father known? Mark had never discussed New York with him. The only person that knew about Roger was Cindy. He'd been forced to confess all when he needed to borrow money for Roger's rehab. Cindy, for the most part, hadn't lectured, playing the part of the dutiful older sister, and handed over the money.

Had she talked to their father? She must have, but still, it shocked Mark that his father would even listen.

He spent a lot of time at the clinic and his camera was on every second it could be. Andy - he'd forbidden Mark to call him Dr. Brightman from day one - had laughed at this, and unlike Mark's father encouraged it.

"You learn a lot about people through that lens, I bet," he told Mark one afternoon.

Mark looked at his camera and shrugged. "I guess so."

"You're an observer," Andy continued. "It's a great trait for a film maker and an even better one for a doctor. You'll see."

Mark wasn't sure he ever would, but he did see something else.

He liked his new job. He truly enjoyed the clinic and he felt guilty when he came back to the loft after work. He brought tons of new footage, but was afraid his secret would come tumbling out if he ever showed it.

"Oh come on," Mimi insisted. It was a Thursday and Mark had spent eight hours at the clinic. He was tired, but it was Mimi's day off and she was anything but tired. In fact, she was restless. Roger was practicing; his latest gig had sparked renewed interest in recreating his band and while it meant great things for all of them, it left Mimi with Mark for company.

"It's not ready."

"So? You always showed us raw footage before - and I know you have tons of it." She plopped herself down on the couch next to him and gave him her best pitiful look. "Pleease..."

"Mimi, you sound like you're five, you know," he told her, shaking his head.

She shrugged. "Does that mean if I throw a tantrum, you'll give in?"

He sighed. Maybe he could show her. Today's footage didn't reveal much, if he recalled correctly, and Roger was due back in about a half-hour or so.

"Fine. The top one."

Mimi jumped and dragged out his old hanging-on-by-a-thread projector. He'd shown her awhile back how to load film onto it, on another night when she and he were Rogerless. He closed his eyes and listened to the sound of the film turning, almost lulled to sleep by its familiarity.

"Hey, Mark, where'd you film this?"

His eyes popped open as his felt a hand shake his shoulder. The projector was off and Mimi was sitting back on the couch next to him. Standing in front of the couch was Roger.

He must have nodded off. He shifted and blinked the weariness from his eyes.

"Film what?" he asked.

"This one." This time it was Roger who answered and placed the film in question on his lap. Mark peered down, straightening his glasses as he stared at the date.

"You got a job at a clinic? I thought you were working at some film place. When did that happen?" Roger didn't sound miffed, just confused.

Right, he knew. That day was one of the few he'd found himself in front of camera, when one of the nurses decided he needed to be filmed instead of always being the one that filmed.

He decided to be honest. "Not too long ago," he admitted. It had only been three months, really. "The money's good."

"I bet," Roger said. "Explains how you covered both mine and Mimi's AZT this month, too."

He shrugged. "Connections, right? Do what you have to do."

"I thought you hated doctors," Mimi said. "Wasn't your dad a doctor?"

"Is still a doctor," Mark corrected, "and I said I hated him, not the profession. Like I said, the money's good and you have to admit, even with your waitressing and your gigs, we could sure as hell use it."

"Oh yeah," Roger admitted. "So this is what you've been filming, huh?"

"It is."

Roger grinned. "You know, next thing you'll be telling us you're going back to school or something. Ready to make a real living."

He swallowed. "Um, would that be such a bad thing?"

Roger shook his head. "Nah. Not if you wanted to sell out again, that is."

"I didn't sell out," he defended, knowing right away what Roger was referring to. Alexi has been a means to an end and the job had gained him enough exposure to get **Today 4 U** out into a niche market. "And besides, it got us away from Benny's handouts, didn't it?"

At Benny's name, Roger flinched. Something had happened between Benny and Roger that Mark never quite figured out, just that it had happened right before they found Mimi on that Christmas Eve. All Mark knew was that Roger and Benny were civil, but it still didn't mean Roger didn't consider Benny a complete sell-out.

"I think about going back to school," Mimi piped in. "I never actually graduated from high school. It'd be nice to finish."

"High school's overrated," Roger answered.

Mark shot Roger a look. Roger had dropped out his senior year, Mark had been told, but Roger's own battle with education didn't need to influence Mimi's. "It is not. You could go back, you know, Mimi. It was one of your New Year's resolutions."

"Yeah, like forever ago." She settled into the cushions. "Angel always told me I could go back. Get my GED, go on to college, and make something of myself. I never believed it. I liked heroin too much to believe it."

At that sentence, even Roger caved. "Mark's right. You could go back. I'd support you."

Mimi waved a hand. "I know you would. And the GED might happen. But college, no way. There's no money and no ti-" She cut herself short when she realized what she almost said.

No time. Never knowing if there were enough tomorrows to make it graduation.

"There's always time," Mark interjected. Again, he thought of what futures people like Andy could offer people like Mimi. Maybe not everything, but any amount of time itself was a precious gift. "And I'm rolling in the big bucks now. I could help."

"Hey! Once the band takes off, I'll be rolling too," Roger insisted.

Mimi laughed. "I'll be a lucky woman."

"That's right." Mark squirmed as Roger leaned down to kiss her. Some things he didn't need a front-row seat for. He got up off the couch, ready to leave the two lovebirds alone.

"Oh," Roger said as Mark headed towards his room. "You got mail, by the way. It's on the table."

Mail? He stopped in his tracks.

"From who?"

"Some college. You sure you're not going back to school?"

Mark didn't answer, just made a beeline to the table. He'd been on four interviews last month and hadn't heard a thing. He had no idea what to expect.

He opened the envelope, scanning its contents. As he lowered it, he found two sets of eyes on him.

"Who's it from?" Mimi asked.

He considered lying. He really did. Mark thought about Roger's philosophy, Roger's idea of selling out, and his own current motives that lay in front of him.

"I'm going back to school," he finally said. "Medical school."

Further A/N: For those who care, a 35 on the MCAT is pretty damn good (basically med schools love to see anything over 30, meaning double digits in each of the three sections) and I picked that number because to me, Mark is pretty damn smart. I learned all about the MCAT and its history when my very good friend took it three years ago. She refuses to disclose her score, but it was high enough to get her in Michigan, so it had to be over 30 :).


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Wow! I did not expect the response I got from this little plot bunny and I enjoy each and every review. They definitely inspire me to get working and write faster. I'm trying for chapters of 1,500 words or more (this one is just about that), so bear with me a bit as I go. And to the person that said Mark wouldn't give up his dream, I say just wait – this bunny has mutated and Mark ain't about to forget about anything so easily.

* * *

Later, he'd realize that Roger's reaction was tame, at least tame the world that was Roger. At the time, however, it felt just as he'd feared it would. It felt cold and accusing.

Roger didn't miss a beat, responding to him with a simple "well, why the fuck would you want to do that?"

Mimi, for her part, got up and swiped the letter out of his hand.

"Columbia, whoa! That's like an ivy league school isn't it? I think Joanne went there." She cocked her head a moment. "Roger, did Joanne go there?"

"Why the hell would I know where Joanne went to college?" Roger answered, his gaze still focused on Mark. "What are you doing?"

The question was expected, but still stung. He knew what he was doing, knew why, but he wasn't about to tell Roger the details. Roger would never get the details. "I told you what I'm doing."

"You're selling out is what you're doing. You hate your father, so why the fuck would you want to be like him?"

"I'm not my father," he said, his jaw clenching as he uttered the words.

"Really?" Roger asked. "Cause you could've fucking fooled me with this medical school crap. You're a film maker. I've never seen you without that camera. Hell, if it were acceptable, I'd swear you'd marry the damn thing."

At any moment, that statement might have been funny and he'd have cracked a smile or two. But now, it hurt. It hurt not only coming from his best friend, but it hurt because deep down, Mark knew Roger was right. Again.

Fuck. He didn't need this. He had reasons. Good reasons and he'd gone over them a million times. He didn't need doubt and he sure as hell didn't need it from Roger.

"I am a film maker, Roger. Did you see all the footage I got at work? Enough for another documentary, at least."

"I'd say two," Mimi told him. "But Mark, honey, you hate hospitals. It was like pulling teeth to get you to come and see Angel."

"I came and saw you when you were there," Mark pointed out, avoiding the point she'd just made. He hadn't avoided seeing Angel often because he hated hospitals. He just hated seeing friends die in them.

Something, that if he followed through with his plan, he might be able to help prevent for a lot longer than he could before.

"You did. But I wasn't…" Mimi trailed off, but Mark could fill in the blank. She wasn't dying. It was a real and frightening scare, but it quickly turned around. Angel's situation had been different.

"I don't hate hospitals. Or doctors. And I'm not becoming my father." Mark took the letter from Mimi's hands. "I'm not giving up films, I'm not—"

"Changing?" Roger finished. "You are, Mark."

"Maybe I'm just growing up." Mark wasn't sure where that response had come from but it was out of his mouth before he had a chance to stop it.

Roger simply held his ground. "That's what Benny said. Right before he married Muffy and sold out."

"Her name is Alison," Mark corrected, "and how many times do I have to tell you before you get it into your brain? I'm not selling out, Roger. I'm just trying," he blinked, his words faltering a second, "I'm just trying, I mean you both need…shit, what's the point? Anything I say you won't listen to." He looked down at the letter in his hands. This was why he didn't tell a soul.

"We both need what?" He felt Mimi's hand on his face. She tipped his chin up to meet her eyes. "Roger and I can take care of ourselves, you know. You don't have to worry."

She got it. She understood. So why didn't Roger?

"Fuck, that's what this is about?" Roger threw him arms in the air. "This is now complete and utter crap, Mark. I got gigs, Mimi has a job, we have AZT. We're fine and you don't need to do something as stupid ass as this to prove a fucking point."

"You couldn't afford your AZT this month, remember? I brought it. I've been buying it for the past year and as you when you don't have health insurance it certainly isn't cheap. Mimi's tips go towards the rent, and your money needs to pay the electric bill, and even then, there's never enough. And," he took a deep breath. "What are you going to do when AZT isn't enough?"

"We'll manage, just like we always have," Roger answered. The musician had a stubborn streak mile-wide. It kept him inside for six months after withdrawal and no matter what Mark tried, nothing could make him budge.

Until Mimi, that is.

Beautiful, sexy, drug-addicted Mimi, with a world of her own problems. After Christmas Eve, Roger tried again to get her clean, but in the end, it had been both him and Mark that took turns making sure she didn't fall into temptation.

"Roger, even if you and Mimi continue taking AZT, continue finding a way to pay for it, it might not be enough. They're approving new drugs, like ddC, to combine with AZT when needed. How the hell are we going to pay for that? You never go to the clinic as it is, so how hell would we even know when you need it?"

"I don't need it," Roger insisted, "and just what is ddC? And when did you start learning so much about HIV?"

"ddC is another antiretroviral drug like AZT. I learned about it when I picked up a book and read." Mark sighed, placing the letter down on the table before flopping back down on the couch. "I did actually graduate from Brown."

Roger's face darkened. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing," he replied with a shake of his head. It wasn't worth it. His eyes fell to the stack of film he'd shot in the last few weeks, of the faces and stories it held, and of what technology had done to help HIV and AIDS patients since 1987.

There was a documentary to make all right, but he needed another prospective to see it.

"Roger, I never expected you to understand. That's why I never told you. Knew you'd think anything but living here paycheck to paycheck, with no heat, was giving up on my dream. You hated Buzzline, but it gave us heat and hot water. It gave us food."

"It stole your soul."

"Did it?" he said. It had, he knew, and he hated every single moment of it, because it wasn't contributing to society. It was a tabloid, plain and simple, and the only thing it did from him was make him a friend or two that agreed to get Today 4 U out into some kind of market.

That had given him heat and hot water, too. But it couldn't last. He never missed much of what he left in Scarsdale, but the idea of stability was something he couldn't ignore.

He had a family to provide for. Roger and Mimi were his family. Collins was his family.

You should do what you need to for family.

He felt a hand brush his and was surprised to find Mimi sitting next to him again. "I think it's great that you want to go back to school. You have a big heart and I always thought you needed to show it to more people."

She smiled and he couldn't help grinning back. Mimi, not even 21, always had a flare for speaking volumes when she wanted to. Her "no day but today" mantra always stayed with him, even though he'd never been able to fully embody its spirit.

"I can help you guys, you know. Make sure the latest stuff out there—"

Mimi shook her head. "I don't need that. We all make mistakes and live with 'em, right? I just need you to be happy. Right, Roger?" She glanced up at Roger who had leaned against the table, arms crossed and silent. Mark was surprised he was still there. Roger tended to book out the door when he was done talking about something.

Roger didn't look up. "Whatever."

"Do you want this?" Mimi asked him.

He paused. Since he'd made this decision, they'd been few questions, only things that needed to be done. He'd pushed any feelings of uncertainty deep down, pushing himself out of the way to help someone else. He'd done it befor and he'd do it again. It was part of who he was he knew, and it would never change.

Maybe he should have told Collins first. Collins always had wisdom to share. He suddenly wished Angel were still here. She was truly that one that had a knack for exposing the very core of people. He wondered what she'd say to him. All he was sure of was that she'd never accuse him of selling out and she'd be the one that would listen to his reasoning and help him work to discover what he really wanted.

Did he want this? Did he really? Wasn't film his life, his soul? Yet, he had to admit, working at the clinic gave him another sense of purpose that he never knew existed. There, he didn't to think about himself and there he could face death instead of trying to ignore it as it spiraled around him. If he could just get that on film, he knew it could be just as moving as Angel's story was. But was it worth it? Did the end justify the means?

Mimi squeezed his hand. "Maybe you should think about—"

"No," he muttered, shaking his head. "I mean, yes."

"Yes?" she asked.

He nodded. "This is what I want."

Deep inside, he sure hoped that he'd made the right choice.

* * *

**A/N:** Again, for those who care, ddC (dideoxycytidine) is an antiretroviral drug developed in 1991 for those patients who couldn't take AZT. In 1992, it was approved, together with AZT, for treatment of those with advanced HIV or AIDS status, and therefore was the first successful HIV/AIDS combination drug therapy or "cocktail."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** Again, guys and gals, thanks for the reviews. They motivate the hell out of me, so keep 'em coming!

* * *

"Maaark, come on. Put down that book, I'm bored!"

A set of hands came into his view as they attempted to drag the text he was reading away from him.

"Maureen, would you stop it? Hey, I'm trying to read that!"

Maureen sighed. "Read, read, read. Ever since you started school, all you do is read now. Where's your camera?"

"Over there," he answered, "and I read because I have an exam next week and if I don't start studying now, I—wait, Maureen, put that down!"

Maureen ignored his plea, simply picking up his camera and turning it on. The tape spinning, she pointed it in his direction.

"Say hi Mark!"

"Maureen, you're going to break it. Put it down." Abandoning his book, he started to approach her.

Maureen rolled her eyes. "You always say that and have I ever put so much as a scratch on it? No. But," she cocked her head towards the couch and Mark's forgotten textbook, "I got you to forget about that."

"Not for long." He grabbed the camera from Maureen's grasp, shutting it off and returning to both his spot on the couch and his textbook.

Maureen obviously wasn't ready to give in, flopping down right next to him. "This is weird, you know."

Mark's eyes didn't leave the page he was reading. "What is weird?"

"This. This whole medical school thing. I mean, you're going to have a real job, like Joanne."

"I guess I will." He flipped the page. "But you love Joanne despite her connection with cooperate America, so why does it matter about me?"

"Because you're Mark."

That comment made him gaze away from his reading. "That's not a reason."

"Yes, it is," Maureen insisted. "You film, you help me set up my equipment for performances, you're always—"

"The same? Consistent?" he asked, trying not feel slightly hurt by that statement.

"Well, yes," Maureen said. "You were going to be a famous director, give me an 'in' for Hollywood, not go to medical school."

"I could still be a famous director." He had a plan. He still had stories to tell, to film, to share. They'd just be different.

"I guess." Maureen didn't sound convinced. "But…"

He never liked buts and when Maureen used the word it was worse. "But what, Maureen?"

"When we were little, you never liked your dad. But who really does? I mean, did you see my parents at the commitment ceremony? My father looked so uncomfortable the whole room could tell. They wanted me to marry you. Of course, if I ever tell them you've decided to become a doctor, they'd never let the matter drop. I mean, I'm a lesbian, hello. I like women."

Maureen was off the topic, rambling, and he needed to redirect her if he had any hopes of getting any studying done before the afternoon was up.

"Do you have a point, Maureen?"

"Of course, I do," she answered. "You're not moving to Scarsdale, are you?"

He frowned. "No! Why the hell would I do that?"

"Because of this." She gestured to the book again. "You're—"

"If you say selling out, you'd be wrong and I don't really want to hear it." His tone was firm; he'd had enough of that sentiment from Roger. Mimi had been supportive, Joanne had been welcoming, hell even Collins seemed cool. Roger was still cold towards the idea. Sure, they were speaking to each other and to the outside observer everything appeared fine, but Mark saw the wedge. He didn't need to create one between him and Maureen as well.

"I wasn't going to say that. You're not Benny," she told him.

"Roger doesn't think that," he muttered, the words slipping off his tongue before he could stop them.

"Roger's a dick," Maureen responded, "in every sense of the word."

He wasn't too surprised by the comment; Roger and Maureen had never quite gelled, despite the fact that it was Maureen's friendship with April that connected Mark with Roger in the first place.

"He'll warm up to the idea," she continued, shoving talk of Roger, aside. "What I was going to say, pookie," Mark cringed at the nickname she still used even though they'd broken up ages ago, "is that I never expected you to do something like this. To do anything closely related to what your parents do."

"My father is a family practitioner. I want to work with HIV and AIDs patients. There's a difference."

"Yeah," Maureen agreed. "But you're still going to film, right?"

"Right." He had every intention of filming. He had ideas rolling through his head about the footage he'd collected from Andy's clinic and spent whatever free time he had brainstorming or editing.

Maureen brightened. "Then you can still get me into Hollywood."

Mark had to grin at that. "Maureen, you could get yourself into Hollywood without my help and you know it."

"Of course I can," she said, "but it's just not the same." She grabbed his hand. "You'll help me this weekend, right? With the show at the lot? Even after two years, Joanne still can't troubleshoot. Runs a mean spotlight, but can't patch a cable to save her life. So please, baby?"

He caved, just as he caved every other time Maureen had batted her eyes and given him a compliment. "If you let me study, you've got a deal."

Maureen sighed. "Those damn books! Fine. But Friday, you're going out with me and Jo, because you need to remember how to have some fun."

And he needed to do it in the mist of his ex and her girlfriend? He'd have to talk to Joanne about that one. He ignored the thought and waved his hand.

"Whatever, Mo. Just let me get through at least one paragraph."

* * *

"Mark, that's gross! Not while I'm eating."

Mark just missed the roll that Mimi playfully tossed at him.

"What? You asked how my day was."

"I didn't need the details of your gross anatomy lab," Mimi shat back.

"Gross is right," Joanne put in. "I'd be on the floor if someone handed me a human spleen. I'm happy sticking with deposition papers."

"I think it's kinda cool," Roger admitted. "Do you really take every organ out of Stan and dissect it? Can you bring something home?"

"Ewww! Roger!" Another roll was tossed, this time hitting the musician.

He picked it up and grinned. "You're the one that said I should be supportive and take an interest in Mark's stuff. So I am. Taking an interest."

"You're just being disgusting," Mimi told him. "You didn't need to name the guy."

Roger shrugged. "You can't just keep saying old dead guy, can you?" Mimi shot him a look. "It was Collins' idea."

"He was a person at one time. He deserves a name," Collins defended. "I think I'd like to donate my body to science. It would save on the funeral costs."

"Or just be morbid to discuss at dinner," Joanne said.

Mark took that moment to sit back and observe his friends, soaking in the moment for everything it was worth. Maureen had finally landed a part in an off-off Broadway show and it was opening night, so she'd made them all promise to attend. Dinner before hand at the life, with alcohol, seemed like a great idea, especially since they'd have two hours of Hamlet: the Musical to sit through.

But what made Mark especially appreciative of this get together, was the simple fact that Roger had acknowledged what Mark was doing. And although Mark wasn't sure exactly what it meant in the long run, it was almost a complete turnaround from two months ago.

After his afternoon with Maureen, the week had passed with little to no incidents. Mark spent the majority of his days on campus, arriving back to an empty loft in the early evening. Roger would come back from rehearsing with the band around 10 and they'd exchange small talk, but Roger never asked about Mark's day.

One evening, however, it changed.

The bills were in and Mark was sitting on the floor with his checkbook, another product of his parents, designed to pay tuition and other school costs. Mimi, now having moved completely into the loft, had offered up tip money towards rent and Mark made sure she had enough left from her prescription. The remainder lay unpaid.

Roger came in, guitar case at his side.

"That time of the month, isn't it?"

"Uh huh." Mark didn't look up, mentally tallying the balance in his bank account.

"I have gig money. Can cover my half of the rent this month."

Mark still didn't look up. "Got enough left for your meds?"

"Yeah," Roger answered. Mark heard Roger move and the guitar case move up onto the table. Something shifted in the air, but he wasn't sure what. He heard a moment later in Roger's voice. "Uh, Mark?"

This time, Mark's gaze shifted up. "What's up?"

Roger leaned against the table, looking more uncomfortable then Mark had ever seen him look. There was a long pause and Mark almost expected Roger to just give up and head towards his room.

"I went to the clinic today."

The words were soft and Mark immediately felt a sense of dread. "You did? Are you all right?" It was a loaded question, because he knew Roger wasn't all right, those with HIV were never completely all right.

"My T-cell count is lower," Roger admitted, "The doctor is talking about putting me on new meds…" Roger took a breath and Mark could almost visualize his friend's inner struggle. "It makes my head swim. I, I think I need your help."

The request was a shock. Roger was probably one of the proudest people Mark had ever met, and his stubborn streak was almost iron clad. He didn't want help, didn't need help. The last time he'd ever admitted he couldn't do something on his own was a couple of months after April when in a brief, lucid, drug-free moment, he'd grabbed hold of Mark's shoulder and said "please help." Seconds later, that moment had been gone, and Roger had turned back into the drug-crazed terror he'd become. But Mark helped him, did everything he could. Made sure he got clean.

Took care of him.

Just like he'd hoped his going back to school would as well.

"Did they give you drug names or pamphlets?" he asked. "Do you remember what your T-cell count actually is?"

"I had the guy write everything down," Roger told him.

"Good." Mark could dig up some research and have a chat with a few professors at school, maybe even swing by the clinic and talk with Roger's doctor himself. For the first time, he felt like he might actually be able to do something that could physically help.

Roger was silent as he rummaged through his pockets for the paper. It was only when he handed it over that he spoke up again.

"Mark, I'm..." The word "sorry" hung in the air, but Mark knew Roger couldn't say it. And he didn't need to. Roger may never understand, but this was an important step.

"I know," Mark finished. "Just let me help."


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** Again, love the reviews! Please keep 'em coming! This chapter was a little harder coming; I think I erased more that I actually wrote, lol, so please let know if you think it works. Some major angst is coming up soon, so I wanted to write a something a little flufflier first.

* * *

"Close on Mark, showing us that blue is his color."

Mark's head whipped up from his workbench, cheeks red as he found Roger standing in the doorway, Mark's camera in hand. Behind him was Mimi and they were both grinning wickedly.

"How did you get in here?" he asked, grateful for the fact that class was over and today, for once, he was the only student that had remained behind.

"We just walked in like everyone else," Mimi answered and stepped up behind him, fingering the hem of his scrub shirt. "Blue really is your color. Brings out your eyes. You should wear it more often."

"Thank you for the advice. Now can you shut that off, please?"

"No way," Roger answered. "You film us all the time and we never get to film you. Besides you're the one that left your camera at home."

"I left it home because I was out of film." He was and hadn't had the time to go and get more. Actually he hadn't had the time to do much of anything lately; finals were around the corner, hence the fact that he was still in the gross anatomy lab half an hour after class. That final was only two days away.

"Not anymore. We went and bought more," Mimi told him and peered over his shoulder. "Oh, ew. I don't why I just looked at that." She took a couple of steps back.

"I think it's cool. What is organ is that?"

"Okay, now the camera really goes off. Seriously." He held up a gloved hand. There was a reason he worked behind the scenes. He never felt comfortable in front of the lens.

This time Roger listened. "It's off," he said. "You want do dinner at the Life? It's on Joanne. Apparently she made partner this afternoon."

"She did?" Mark knew she'd been trying to achieve that for the past several months, but he hadn't had a free moment to speak with her lately to ask how it was going and Joanne seemed just as preoccupied. "That's great!"

"Of course it is. It means we get to see drunk Joanne," Mimi said. "Drunk Joanne is so much fun. So come on, let's go."

"I need to clean up and change."

"Okay, clean up. Mimi and I will meet you downstairs," Roger said.

"But don't change," Mimi told him, "I was serious when I said blue was your color."

* * *

In the end, it turned out that Mark couldn't change. A slight accident while cleaning up had left his jeans soaking, so, feeling somewhat self-conscious, in scrubs he stayed, making sure he closed his coat.

"Mark!" Joanne was up and out of her chair when they entered the Life, and judging from her eyes and the wine glasses on the table, it was apparent she and Maureen had been celebrating for a little while. "You finally made it."

"Yeah, Mimi and Roger found me," he said. "Congratulations."

"We dragged him, really," Mimi interjected playfully, shrugging off her coat and taking a seat. "Please tell me Andre's bringing out the good stuff, 'cause if he's not I can fix that."

"Joanne already ordered the most expensive champagne on the menu," Maureen answered. "She's showing off. Right, pookie?" Maureen took that opportunity to pat Joanne on the ass.

Joanne only grinned. It was New Year's all over again. "Hell, why not? I can afford it now. Sit down, Mark. Take off your coat and have some champagne."

He sat down, but left his coat on, accepting a glass from Collins.

"A toast," Collins said. "To Joanne Jefferson. The richest one of us. Which, of course, doesn't take much, but it's still an accomplishment worth celebrating."

"And she didn't sell out," added Roger.

"Damn right," Joanne answered. "Though I did kiss some ass on the way there."

"We'll forgive you for that, I think," Collins said. "To Joanne, her promotion, and her new finances that are paying for this meal."

Glasses clinked all around and orders were taken before they all settled back into conversation.

"You know, in another three years, it could be Mark paying for one of these meals," Mimi said, after downing half her glass of champagne.

"Oh yeah," Maureen chimed in, getting up and putting her hands on the back of Mark's chair. "Marky'll be rich."

"Just don't forget the little people when you get to the top," Collins said.

"Oh yeah, when I'm making the big bucks working in a free clinic," he answered with smile. "I think I'll make more money with my films than I will with my medical career."

Collins gave a shrug. "Time will tell, I guess. We all know the college professor's life is not glamorous."

"Especially not when you keep getting yourself fired," Roger pointed out.

"True," Collins answered, "but I do go out with a bang, don't I?"

"Oh yeah." Roger raised his glass again, clinking it with Collins.

"Mark, take your coat off," Maureen persuaded, hooking her arms around his neck from behind. She, like Joanne, was definitely relaxed. Maureen, surprisingly, was one of the biggest lightweights ever and her open personality only seemed to enhance the effects of any alcohol. "It's a million degrees in here."

"I'm fine," he said.

"No, you're not." She started unbuttoning his coat and he couldn't help blushing.

"Maureen," he hissed, moving her hand away. He felt the blush crept up into his cheeks. Part of him - granted it was a very tiny part - still harbored feelings for her and her being this close didn't help.

"Hey." Joanne had apparently noticed the fact that her girlfriend was a little too close to her ex-boyfriend. "Maureen..."

Maureen waved a hand. "Relax, pookie, I'm just getting him to take his coat off. I'm all yours, baby." Her hands had reached the last button and pulled his coat off. "Oooo, you're all decked out, Mark."

"I came from the lab," he explained.

"Blue is your color," Maureen commented.

"That's exactly what I said," Mimi said. "Very sexy."

"Hey." Roger feigned a hurt expression.

"Don't worry, honey, you're sexy, too," Mimi told him. "But dressed like that, Mark could get a himself a gal or two."

"Yeah, gold diggers," Joanne said. "You be careful, Mark."

"I'm sure when they see my bank account, they'd all run away, so there's no worry there." Frankly, the idea of finding someone made him uncomfortable. It was hard enough being around couples, it was even worse when those couple decided he needed someone to be happy. After Maureen, he'd learned giving his all to someone only got him hurt.

Besides, he was happy. Or at least, he told himself that he was. He was currently stressed beyond belief, both terrified and excited for his finals and the three years to come. But on the film side of things, he was absolutely frustrated by the footage he had and the focus he lacked. He'd barely had time to edit, which was fine, after finals there would be time and that wasn't what bothered him. What upset him was the fact that they was no screaming link in the scenes he watched, no connection. Before he'd had Angel; now there was no muse in sight.

The food came and conversation continued, but when Collins excused himself to go outside for a smoke, Mark told advantage of that moment to pick Collins' brain.

"Am I crazy?" he asked, leaning against the building as Collins blew a puff of smoke into the air.

Collins turned to him. "Do you think you're crazy?"

"I think I'm exhausted and wondering how the hell I'm going to make it through my finals."

"You'll make it," Collin answered. "Though I will say, I was surprised to see Roger with your camera tonight. That thing is a part of you."

"I know," he admitted. "Roger once told me I'd marry it if I could."

Collins smiled. "Sounds like something Roger would say."

"'Course he did say it when he was pissed at me."

"He wasn't pissed. He was just confused. To Roger, you are bohemia and the real world all in one. If you change, well, then he has too as well."

He frowned. "I don't know if I understand."

Collins took another drag of his cigarette. "He has to grow up. We all think we can continue like this forever, but we can't. And if you move on, well, you hold this group together, even though half the time you may not feel like it. Angel pointed that out to me; she saw it the moment she met you."

"Angel was wrong. She did a hell of lot more than I did," he muttered. He'd failed in many things, never moved forward. Before he'd gone back to school, he hadn't changed. Even with the very limited release of his film, nothing had really changed. He was still broke and the only one that didn't have a lasting romantic relationship and ultimately would be the last person standing, watching the group dwindle one by one.

"Angel was amazing, and as much as it still hurts me a little every day, we're surviving without her. I'm not sure it would be the same if you left."

He considered that though carefully. "Maybe," he admitted, "but you still didn't answer my original question. Do you think what I'm doing is crazy?"

"No," Collins said. "But I do think it's crazy that you think you can save us all."

"They are new medications coming out—"

"And they may or may not help any of us, even if you do manage to make sure we take 'em. Mark, I know exactly what you're doing, and hell, I even appreciate it. I can even see that you actually like it. But don't lose who you are in the process. Remember that camera."

"I haven't forgotten about my camera. I have footage. I'm just not sure what to do with it." Mark sighed. "Before Angel was my focus. Now I'm not sure what my focus is."

"You have a focus."

"Do I?" he asked. "Or are you seeing something that I don't?"

"Damn it, Mark, you are the most observant person in the world when it comes to others, but when it comes to yourself, you need serious help." He finished his cigarette, throwing the butt onto the ground. "Roger showed up on campus today to drag your ass here, didn't he?"

"He and Mimi did. What does that have to do with anything?"

"Did he bring your camera?" Collins asked.

Again, Mark found himself frowning. He hadn't a clue what Collins was trying to get him to see. "Yeah. He decided filming me in the mist of my gross anatomy lab was a good idea."

Collins raised an eyebrow. "There you go. I'm heading back inside, see if Joanne's drunk enough to dance again. You coming?"

Mark shook his head, Collins' words echoing in his brain. "In a minute."

It was as he watched Collins head back into the Life that the point Collins was trying to make finally hit him.

Himself. Collins was talking about using himself. Was he supposed to be the focus of his own film? Was what he was trying to achieve important enough to be a focus? At the moment, his brain was to tired to wrap itself around the concept. Did he need to play a more active role in his storytelling?

Could he do that if he wasn't sure what the story was?

_From here on in, I shoot without a script..._

He shook his head and went back into the Life, more confused than ever. He walked straight into Roger, who had his camera on and pointed directly at him.

"Don't be lame," Roger said, "besides if you get back up on one of these tables, I want it documented. I already got Joanne while you were outside." Sure enough, in the distance, Joanne was sitting in the middle of their table, champagne in one hand and a smiling Maureen in the other.

Roger was holding the camera all wrong, and Mark was sure the angle was terrible, but the few shots of himself that he'd placed into **Today 4 U** were taken by Roger's hand.

Maybe, just maybe, he'd give Collins' advice a little thought.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: **Again love the reviews, so keep 'em coming. I apologize in advance for the slight cliffhanger :).

* * *

He survived finals, felt like a walking zombie for a week, and moved forward. Celebrated his little heart out at a fellow student's apartment in the Village, returning to the loft, much to Roger's surprise, more than a little drunk. But hell, he thought officially surviving his first year of medical school had to be worth celebrating.

He went back to Andy Brightman's clinic for the summer and after a week back there, Andy decided Mark needed to step it up a bit. He handed Mark a white coat, looped a stethoscope around his neck, and told him he was going to truly start seeing patients.

Mark froze in his tracks. "Um, you do you I have only finished my first year, right? We haven't even made it to much clinical stuff, that starts next semester."

"I know," Andy told him, "which is why we're going to work together. But I do know you learned the exam basics and I believe in a hands-on-approach. Don't worry, I won't leave you high and dry. You're not completely covered by my insurance."

Mark had to smile at that, though inwardly he was completely terrified.

"Come on," Andy said, "I'm going to step you through taking a history. You'll be light-years ahead of the other students come August."

Mark followed, suddenly feeling out of place. The white coat felt odd and stiff, and again he wondered just what the hell was he doing.

In fact, he asked that very question in front of his camera two hours later when he had a break and escaped outside.

But he knew what he was doing. He'd stumbled and stammered, trying to drag up the confidence that had to be lurking somewhere inside him and Andy was patient and willing to let him made a mistake or twelve in his presence. How the hell this man was ever friends with his father he'd never know. Unless he asked, of course, and curiosity finally got the better of him later in the week.

Andy had taken him out to lunch at a small café in between his practice and the clinic.

"How were you and my father ever friends?" he asked, point blank. His father was stiff and unemotional. A great doctor, yes, but he was nicer to his patients then he had been to Mark. Always civil, but Mark had been hoping for more than civil.

Andy laughed. "Your dad isn't that bad of a guy, really, though he was a lot looser in college."

"Really. That's hard to tell now." Mark stirred his tea absently, wondering if somehow parents led double lives that changed the moment they had kids. He remembered when he had been five, he'd broken his arm and his father had set it. He wasn't as gentle as he could have been and Mark had been in tears, but the thing that stood out of most in his memory of the event was the disappointed look he saw on his father's face.

"Your dad means well," Andy said. "He always expects the best from everyone and when he doesn't get it, he doesn't take it well. He turns into a bastard, actually." He grinned. "You know, when he called me, I thought maybe you were doing this for him. Your mother always said you were into film and it seem unusual that you'd change your mind. But then I met you and I realized you're a lot more complicated than I expected. Still filming?"

"Yeah," he said. "My friend Collins thinks I should stop filming the world and start filming myself, though." Mark wasn't sure why he shared that piece of information, but it was nice to talk with someone that had no connections to his friends and could offer a different perspective.

"Sounds like this Collins knows what he's talking about." Andy raised a hand as their waitress came by. "We'll take the check. Mark," he continued. "I've said this before, I think you have the making of a wonderful doctor. But sometimes, just sometimes, you do have realize things, to feel."

The statement came out of nowhere and Mark was sure his surprise to it was written all over his face.

"Your father hid everything. Never talked about things and unfortunately, it bled into the person he is now. Sure, in medicine, maybe even in film making, you have to detach yourself from others to see the big picture. But only to a certain degree. If you can't remember to feel, you're not a human being."

Andy's words would haunt him for days.

* * *

A couple of weeks later with the next semester approaching, Mark saw those very words stick with him as he found himself growing more comfortable at the clinic. The coat didn't itch anymore and the weight of the stethoscope around his neck didn't feel foreign. He smiled at patients and they smiled back and in an experiment of sorts, he let Andy take his camera and film him taking a history, thinking at the very least he could review it later and see where he went wrong.

He also started narrating again. Turning the camera on himself as he headed back to the East Village, using it as a journal of sorts. He watched the footage when he thought no one was around, but one evening, Mimi caught him.

"You look happy," she said as he fumbled with the reel. It was a shot of him in the clinic, stumbling through a basic exam and he felt embarrassed that she had seen even a small piece of it.

"I'm making a million mistakes," he said, finally shutting the projector off.

"Don't we all?" she answered. "You going to Roger's show tonight?"

"Of course. You?"

"I'm Roger's good luck charm, so I'll be there. Plus, I have to hold off all of the groupies. Roger's mine and I plan on letting each and every one of them know that."

Mark just shook his head at that. Roger and Mimi's relationship had strengthened so much this past year, and although there were squabbles here and there, it appeared both of them had matured enough to make this relationship work. Roger had even been toying with the idea of buying Mimi a ring, but Mark knew that it was both the fear of rejection and lack of funds that held him back.

Roger had nothing to worry about, however, Mark knew Mimi would say yes on the spot, but he could understand playing it safe. Safe meant no heartache and heartache sucked beyond belief.

"I think Roger's equally as worried about guys picking you up while he's on stage."

"No way," Mimi answered. "When you're dating the pretty boy frontman, anyone else is a downgrade." She walked past the projector, fingering the reel in it. "Why won't you let me watch more?"

"It's boring," he told her. "Basic shot I got to see where I needed to improve at the clinic. Not movie material."

"That's a shame," Mimi said. "Because I like seeing you in your films. Makes it, I don't know, more real or something. And I was serious before, you know. That you look happy. You never smile enough."

"I smile," he insisted.

"You do," Mimi agreed, "I just want to see you smile more. Even though Roger and I might be sick, we have each other and once we finally realized that and stopped jerking on another around, it made us happy."

"I don't need to be in a relationship to be happy."

"I didn't say you did. Though I'm sure a wild night or two of hot sex could make you feel better. It certainly brightens my week." Mimi flashed him a wicked grin. "I know this girl at work that—"

"No setups, please. I'm fine." Setups were evil.

"Of course you are." She gestured to the blank projection screen. "I see it. We're all growing up, aren't we?"

It was an interesting statement and Mark took a moment to think it over. Again, Collins' words rang in his ears. Since he'd gone to school, he'd set a pace. Roger had landed a steady gig at a tiny little club downtown, playing every Friday night. Mimi was still waiting tables, and last week she'd begun the process towards earning her GED. Collins' teaching job was still intact, Joanne was the top dog in her firm, and even Maureen had started to look more actively for roles than she ever had before.

Had he started a chain reaction or was everyone slowly realizing that living the way they were couldn't last forever? Change came whether one liked it or not. But Benny had been the first to do anything grown-up and he'd been intially scorned for it. Still, Benny was now living the good life in Wesport with Alison.

"Maybe we are. Is that a bad thing?"

Mimi shrugged. "My life is better than it was two years ago. You still live for the moment, but it's nice to have a future waiting in the wings. I was thinking of grabbing something to eat before the show. Want to join me? I'm paying."

"Sure," he answered. "The sounds great."

* * *

"Happy birthday, Collins. How does it feel to be thirty?" Mimi asked after Collins had blown out the candles on another one of Maureen's homemade cakes. Maureen's cooking skills had surprised everyone last year at Collins' birthday. Joanne joked that if Hollywood didn't work out, perhaps she should try opening a bakery.

Knowing Maureen, Mark wouldn't be surprised if she did. Maureen was truly capable of anything.

"It feels no different from twenty-nine," Collins answered and Mark couldn't help noticing he was sweating. "Thus far, at least."

"You're over the hill now, you know," Roger commented.

"I'd watch what you say, Roger. Isn't your twenty-ninth birthday next month?"

"It's still only twenty-nine," Roger answered. "Not thirty."

"You say thirty as if it's a dirty word," Joanne remarked. "I'll be thirty in few months and I feel anything but old. It's just a new decade."

"I'll be happy to turn thirty," Mimi said, her voice oddly quiet. Mimi was the youngest, barely twenty-two, and the meaning behind her words wasn't lost, especially to Mark. Eight years was a long time for someone living with HIV.

"So, who wants cake?" Maureen asked, shattering the silence that had settled into the room.

"I do," Roger piped up.

"Not afraid I'll poison you anymore?" Maureen said as she cut him a piece and passed it his way.

"I eat my words," he answered, wasting no time before taking a bite.

"Collins? It's your cake, so you get the best piece." Maureen held up another plate.

Collins opened his mouth to answer, but only ended up coughing. Mark immediately frowned, his mind flashing back to another birthday celebration and another friend coughing.

Coughing was never ever good.

"Collins, you okay, man?" Roger asked, handing Collins a piece of cake.

"Stubborn cold," Collins insisted. "It's been hanging on for weeks. I blame the college student germs. What did we do with the forks?"

"Here." Joanne passed him a plastic fork and Mark didn't miss the cough Collins tried to muffle as he worked on his cake. Torn between pushing the issue and letting it drop, Mark watching the coughing continue through the evening. After Maureen and Joanne left and Mimi and Roger ran downstairs to throw out the trash, Mark saw Collins drop onto the couch, eyes closed and looking even more fatigued then he had earlier. Mark took the chance to lay a hand across Collins' forehead and when he felt the heat beneath it, he definitely knew he couldn't let the matter drop.

"Collins, you look like shit."

Collins cracked upon an eye. "Thanks for the compliment, Mark."

"I'm serious. You're running a fever. This isn't just a cold and you damn well know it."

The other eye opened and Collins appeared to take it the statement. "No, it's not," he admitted.

"Did you go to the clinic?"

"I went two weeks ago." He didn't elaborate, so Mark knew he needed push for more information.

"What was your T-Cell count?"

Collins blinked. "Just below 200."

"Fuck." Mark couldn't stop the curse from coming out of his mouth. "You know that makes you a prime target for PCP, don't you?"

"I know," Collins responded. "Angel had a cough she couldn't shake and next thing we knew, every day was the hospital. She wanted to come home and every day I said, maybe, just maybe. I don't want to end up there."

"And ignoring it will help?"

Collins shrugged. "I've had this disease for ten years, near as I can estimate. The fact that I haven't gotten full-blown AIDS yet is a miracle, really. Angel had been positive five years before AIDS hit and two months later, she was dead."

"In past two years, things have changed. Newer antibiotics, newer antiretroviral drugs. What happened to Angel doesn't have to happen to you."

"Yeah, well, what if I want it to?"

He was taken aback by the blunt statement. He'd never ever thought of Collins as suicidal. Collins was strong, Collins was a survivor, telling the world that is exactly what Angel would want him to be.

"Collins—" he started, but Collins held up a hand.

"I know. Angel would kick my ass the second I got to heaven, but it's hard to be alone sometimes, waiting for a limited future. Angel hurt all the time. Is that worth it?"

"Did Angel ever say it wasn't?" Mark hated thinking about another one of his friends dying. It was an idea that sent him running, something he was trying so hard to prevent so that he didn't have to ever run from it. Visiting Angel was hard. Could he visit Collins when modern medicine failed?

No, it wouldn't fail, he tried to tell himself. But he knew it could and eventually would.

"You need to see a doctor," Mark told him, not willing to let Collins give up.

"I just did," Collins said.

"I'm not a doctor." Not for another three years and Collins needed help now and Mark wanted to make sure he got it now.

"Not yet, but I trust you." Collins' tone was even, serious. The grin from earlier was gone and for first time ever, Mark observed a hint of vulnerability in Collins' eyes. It was frightening.

He resisted the urge the hide and took responsibility instead. Even after all was said and done, he'd ultimately be the one left behind.

"I have a friend, the guy I work for. He's one of the best. I'm going to call him, okay?"

"Thank you," Collins said quietly, letting his eyes close again.

Mark found the number he needed and dialed. It was after eleven and a weeknight, so when Andy picked up, he apologized profusely, but was immensely grateful when Andy agreed to meet them down at the medical center.

Just as he was hanging up the phone and mentally wondering if he had enough cash for a cab, Mimi and Roger came back up.

"Do either of you have cab money?" were the first words he said to him, and both looked confused.

"I have cash," Mimi answered. "Why?"

"I need to call a cab," he told her. "I'm taking Collins to the hospital."

* * *

**Further A/N:** More trivia - PCP stands for _pneumocystis carinii_ pneumonia. While the germ can invade many of us, it really only strikes those with a compromised immune system, like cancer and HIV/AIDS patients. For many HIV patients, this illness means their HIV has transitioned into full-blown AIDS.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** I was a bad girl and didn't get a chance to post anything yesterday, so today I offer a long chapter (3,000 words!) to make up it for it. I try hard to be quick on the posting trigger, but sometime it doesn't work out. Still, the reviews help and again, guys and gals, thank you so much for every word and keep 'em coming.

* * *

"You were right. It's PCP."

Several hours later, that was not the news Mark had wanted to hear. On the cab ride over, he'd hoped it might be something else, anything else, but when Collins had started having problems catching his breath in the ER, he hadn't been able to think of anything else but that diagnosis.

"PCP?" Roger asked, rubbing his hand down Mimi's arm as she sat in his lap.

"Pneumocystis carinii pneumonia," Andy elaborated. "It's a fairly moderate case, but treatable with IV antibiotics and I'm optimistic. He'll need to stay here, of course, but you can see if him if you'd like."

Mimi was up off Roger's lap the second Andy gestured towards to correct exam room and Roger was on her heels. Mark loitered a moment, meeting his boss' eyes.

"Are you really optimistic?" He needed to know the truth; surprises only resulted in pain.

"I really am," Andy told him. "His T-Cell count is low, but it could be worse."

"But he had AIDS now right? T-Cell count below 200, one or more opportunistic infections." He kept his tone even, reciting the facts as if he were reading them straight out of a textbook instead of talking about one of his closest friends.

"This is his first OI," Andy answered, "but yes."

Mark didn't respond, dropping his eyes to the floor as he tried to swallow the lump forming in his throat. He tried to hold himself together, to shove it all aside so he could head down the hall and smile. But all he thought of was Angel and reality. It seemed like too damn much.

"Mark."

He felt a hand on his shoulder and sighed. He couldn't lose it, not here, not ever. What kind of doctor would he ever be if he couldn't face bad news?

"He's your friend. You're allowed to be upset. You should be upset. But give the antibiotics a change to work. I'm going to reevaluate his current meds later on today. I've already talked to him, so he knows what's going on. We've discussed options. You need to go see him."

He was steered towards the proper room and when his feet stopped he took a deep breath.

"I'm a mess," he said, finally looking back up at Andy.

"Maybe. But you're only human."

Collins looked terrible, but was talking to Mimi when he entered. He tried to smile, but what came out, he feared, was anything but. Sometimes having an inside track, he was learning, sucked.

"Geez, Mark, you look like I'm dying or something." Collins tried to keep his voice light, but his pale face told a different story.

"You're not dying," he said, surprising himself with the statement. Maybe if he said it aloud, it would automatically come true. That medical science would find a cure tomorrow and they'd all celebrate.

"Of course I'm not," Collins answered. "I've got too many things to do."

"Damn right you do," Mimi said, squeezing his hand. Roger looked up and caught Mark's eye.

"Takes a licking keeps on ticking, that's Tom Collins," Roger said. They all tiptoed around the alternative, treating it like the elephant in the room. It was too depressing not to.

Keeps on going, Mark thought. Collins still had options, some that Angel didn't have a couple of years ago. And he'd have to take comfort in that.

"Yeah," he finally agreed. "Keeps on going."

* * *

Later that day, after classes, and another stop at the hospital, Mark found himself contemplating just if he believed Collins could truly hang on forever. And if Collins couldn't hang, what did that mean for Roger? Or Mimi?

The reality was daunting.

Andy seemed pleased with Collins' slight improvement over the past twelve hours and that meant a lot to Mark. Enough to even let him head back to the loft in better spirits, no longer ready to fall apart at the seams.

He found Roger sitting on the table, strumming the same cord over and over again.

"I thought you had rehearsal."

Roger looked up. "I skipped it. Saw Collins."

"You weren't there when I was there."

Roger shrugged. "Guess we just missed each other then." He went back to the guitar. Something was off, Mark knew, but getting Roger to talk was near impossible. Of course, Roger would probably say the same about him, but perhaps that why they were friends.

It was then that Mark noticed a couple of prescription bottles sitting next to Roger. "Refill?" he asked.

"Yeah," Roger answered, not bothering to glance away from his guitar this time.

Mark sighed. Something was definitely bothering Roger, all right, but his body language inferred that he didn't want to share. It wasn't about Mimi; Mark had seen her at the hospital and she would have forewarned him that she and Roger would mid-agrument.

Too tired to probe, he hoisted his bag back over his shoulder and headed towards his room.

"Collins has AIDS now, right?"

Mark had almost made it to his door when Roger's question stopped him in his tracks. He turned and found the songwriter staring at him, face neutral.

Did he lie? He couldn't do that; he was a shitty liar anyway and Roger knew that. Instead he settled for truth, muttering a quiet, "yes."

"I thought so. I, uh, borrowed one of your books this afternoon and—"

"You read one of my textbooks?" Mark interrupted. Roger wasn't the reading type and Mark certainly couldn't picture him reading a medical textbook.

"Well, I tried. Gave up after three seconds. But you had it open to some chapter about HIV, so I figured something was going on with Collins that you hadn't shared."

"He's improving. Does it matter?"

"Does it matter?" Roger repeated. "Of course it fucking matters! Mimi and I were scared shitless last night after you said you needed to take Collins to the hospital." He shook his head. "You should have told us. I may not understand a lot about this PCP or almost everything else in your damn books, but I did understand that it said PCP means Collins has AIDS."

"I'm sorry." He wasn't sure what else to say. Collins was still here and he hoped with the right meds he could still have a couple more years in him.

"Yeah," Roger responded, the anger he'd expressed a mere moment before dissipating. One thing Mark had noticed was that Roger's temper had gotten much better recently. It was another gradual change that had slipped itself in there since Angel's death and Mimi's miracle. That year had set forth a chain reaction that had each one of them growing up and moving forward.

"How much longer does…you know..."

Roger didn't finish the sentence, but it shocked him that he asked. Asking meant dealing with it and Mark himself was still struggling with that demon. But Mark didn't have mortality looming over his shoulder.

Roger's own feelings about his HIV status were murky at best. He'd been suicidal after April, but too high and too much of a coward to go through with it. Mostly, Mark viewed Roger as angry. Angry about it and angry at himself for letting it happen. That anger got in the way and it was Mimi that ultimately got him to shove some of it aside. Still, Collins illness was another wake-up call, not just for Roger, but for all of them.

"I don't know," he admitted. "It's hard to tell."

"Right."

Roger's hand went back to strumming the same chord and Mark knew the conversation was over. He headed into his room and tried, once again, to stay optimistic.

* * *

Collins stayed in the hospital for almost two weeks, suffering a slight setback just after Mark's conversation with Roger that had landed him ICU for two days and Mark had hoped that he wasn't giving up. Angel hadn't given up until the bitter end, he knew, and he expected no less from Collins.

However, it wasn't Collins' time, and although weak, he was released from the hospital in relatively good spirits. He stayed at the loft for a few days where Mimi brought him soup and Mark brought him meds. Roger joked, Maureen and Joanne visited, and the elephant went back into the corner, temporarily forgotten.

Fall came and went, bringing in an early and bitter cold just after Thanksgiving. Mark tackled more classes and the very beginning of clinical work, learning the proper way to conduct a physical. His camera started coming to class and much to his delight, most of his instructors welcomed the idea of filming. Learning tool, they called it, but Mark had bigger plans for the footage down the road. Unfortunately, they were put on hold as the semester neared its end and studying took first priority. Sleep was a thing of the past and he'd had more coffee in one week than he'd had in the past six months. Year one had been bad, but certain circumstances had made this semester brutal and he knew he needed to concentrate because all this would eventually help him pass step 1 of the medical licensing examination.

"Mark, we have to go."

A hand on his shoulder shook his out of his doze - a doze that he quickly realized had taken place right in the middle of one of his textbooks. He blinked the sleep from his eyes, straightening his glasses. Mimi stood in front of him, all dolled up and ready for a night on the town.

"I'm up, I'm up," he insisted. "You look great, by the way."

"Thanks," Mimi replied with a smile. "I wish I could say the same about you. You look exhausted. You're going to make yourself sick. You sure you're up to this? Roger would understand."

"Roger would not understand and you know that." He resisted the urge to yawn. "I have finals next week. After that, things get better."

Mimi looked unconvinced. "If you say so. But either way, we were supposed to meet up with Maureen, Joanne, and Collins ten minutes ago."

"Ten minutes? Mimi, why didn't you wake me up ten minutes ago then?"

Mimi shrugged. "I wasn't ready yet. Now I am."

Mark just smiled and shook his head. "Fine. Let me get my coat."

* * *

Mimi's words bit him in the ass three weeks later. He made through another set of finals and through an extremely grueling Hanukkah in Scarsdale – an affair he immediately regretted attending. Cindy, her husband, and her kids were there, he answered more questions about school than he'd ever care to, and his mother treated him as if the first years he spent in New York didn't matter when she told his aunt that Mark had "come to his senses." She seemed to ignore the fact that his camera came with him and he was filming the entire incident.

Still, he took it well and smiled through it all, reminding himself he knew exactly why he was doing what he was doing and that what his mother thought didn't mean a damn thing.

His father, however, was strangely quiet and Mark reflected on what Andy had shared with him during that lunch they'd had, but he was too chicken to even try and attempt to bring the subject up. Only bad things would happen and sometimes it was best to leave things the way they were.

Still, surviving a family function made Mark feel somewhat invincible and he tackled the next semester head on. That is until one afternoon he stopped by the clinic to ask Andy for a favor.

He was feeling poorly and had a cough that just didn't seem to want to go away and afraid of spreading any germs to Roger or Mimi, he figured an antibiotic couldn't hurt. What he didn't want to happen was to stumble and nearly faint in the middle of the clinic's waiting room, but in the end, that's exactly what did.

That earned him an immediate trip to an exam room and a lecture and diagnosis he didn't need to hear. The ultimatum Andy offered him after the exam wasn't sitting well with him either.

"I need you to come and get me." He said the words into the phone as quickly as he could, thankful he was able to make through all of them without coughing. The effort, however, left him breathless.

"Come get you?" Maureen repeated. "Why? Where are you?"

Mark closed his eyes. He hated this, hated relying on someone else this much. "Um, I'm at the clinic." This time, a harsh cough followed his words, followed by wheezing. Across the room, Mark saw Andy frown and hoped the man would not break his promise and have him admitted.

"The clinic? Mark, you sound like shit. You're sick, aren't you?"

"Yes," he admitted, "and Andy won't let me go home unsupervised. I can't call Roger or Mimi or," he paused a moment to take a breath, "or Collins because none of them can afford to be infected by my germs. So please, Maureen, just come get me." He just got out the last word before another round of coughing hit.

"Of course I'll come get you," Maureen responded, "and you can stay with Joanne and me."

Grateful, Mark rattled off the address before ending the call and sinking back into the exam table. He let a brief cough escape and felt someone press something plastic into his hand.

"Inhaler," he heard Andy say. "I should admit you, you know."

"X-rays were okay, no pneumonia."

"X-rays were far from what I'd call okay, but I'll give you the no pneumonia." He crossed his arms. "No classes for at least a week."

Mark groaned. "I'll fall so behind." He coughed again and this time the breathlessness that followed seemed unrelenting.

"Use the inhaler," Andy instructed and Mark did, immediately feeling a bit of relief. He felt completely useless and more tired than he could ever remember feeling.

"Don't worry about classes," Andy continued. "You'll catch up. Who's coming to get you?"

He'd only catch up if he busted his ass, which clearly he was going to have to do. "My friend Maureen."

"Good. I want to talk to her before you leave."

"Why? You don't trust me?"

Andy picked up his chart and started scribbling. "Frankly," he said without glancing up, "Nope."

"I can take care of myself."

"If you'd done that, you wouldn't have nearly passed out in the middle of this clinic." He stopped writing and looked up. "I want to you stay here and rest until Maureen gets here, okay?"

Mark knew better to argue with him and honestly, he didn't harbor any deep desire to move at the moment, either. He just closed his eyes and listened to his congested breathing.

"Mark! Jeez, you really look terrible! You sure he can come home?" The last part was directed to someone else and for a second Mark was confused. Why was Maureen here and who else was she talking to? Hell, for that matter, just where was he?

His eyes popped open and in a split second he recognized his surroundings and remembered. He'd gotten himself into trouble and had to rely on Maureen to bail him out. Literally.

"It's a nasty case of bronchitis, but he'll be fine as long he takes the antibiotics—"

"Don't need antibiotics," he mumbled. "Could be viral."

"The wheezing alone tells me it's not viral," Andy shot back, "but while I wait for the culture to come back make sure he takes the antibiotics and uses the inhaler," Andy assured her. "And if his temperature goes above 103, I want him in the nearest hospital."

Maureen nodded, biting her lip. Crap. Maureen only bit her lip when she was worried. What else had Andy told her while he had drifted off?

"You're free to go," Andy was saying next and Mark found himself thinking he'd missed something in the middle. That's when he noticed the Band-Aid on his forearm.

"You gave me something," he accused.

"Antibiotic," Andy answered. "Jump start while you get your prescription filled. Unfortunately, one of side effects is drowsiness."

"No shit," he muttered as he tried unsuccessfully to push himself up off the exam table. In the end, he had to resort to Maureen's help to get on his feet and even then, he wasn't very steady.

Andy handed Maureen a bag and something that looked like his card before they ventured outside to hail a cab. The cab ride was fuzzy for him; actually the next couple of hours were fuzzy. He remembered coughing, Joanne's couch, and Maureen chomping so hard on her lip he was sure she had to have drawn blood.

Next thing he knew it was dusk and he was cocooned on the couch in a massive pile of blankets. Maureen was cuddled up on an armchair, staring at the television, but not looking like she cared much about what was on.

"Mo?" He cringed at the sound of his voice.

"Mark, thank god." She was up in at instant and feeling his forehead. "You scared the shit out of me. You were so out of it."

"It was the medication," he told her. "Thanks for coming to get me, though. I appreciate it."

Maureen smiled. "Anytime, baby. How you feeling?"

"Honestly?"

"Well, yeah."

He took a breath and coughed. "Like crap. Did you call Roger? Or Mimi?"

She nodded. "They were worried, but understand why you didn't come home. And don't worry – Joanne's picking up some of your stuff from the loft on her way home. In a few days Dr. Brightman said you'll be able to go back without infecting anyone else there. But until then, you and I can watch daytime soaps together!"

Mark groaned. Maureen had a not-so-secret passion for soap operas and an insistence that everyone else in the near vicinity of her should watch as well. "Please, anything but soaps, Maureen. Hell, I'll even watch Lifetime."

"Lifetime is great dramatic television," Maureen defended. "And since you're so willing and Days of Our Lives is way over, Lifetime it is."

Mark resisted the urge to pull the blanket over his head.

* * *

**A/N:** Medical trivia time!

OI Opportunistic infection, if you didn't pick it up

A lot of times bronchitis is a virus, therefore making antibiotics useless and unnecessary, but a secondary bacterial infection can cling on for the ride, making antibiotics necessary to prevent pneumonia (wow – pneumonia – I sense a trend here, lol).

And last, but certainly not least, Mark is correct when he recites the terms for diagnosing AIDS – a consistent T-Cell count under 200 and at least one opportunistic infection, like PCP or another illness that one normally wouldn't pick up if they had a normal functioning immune system.

Okay, I lied, there's one other tiny little thing if you were special enough to notice it – there's one reference to step one of the medical licensing exam. Three are three steps to complete the United States Medical Licensing Examination, and step 1 assesses whether the student understands and can apply important concepts of the sciences basic to the practice of medicine. It's not actually taken until the end of year 4 (or MSIV), but some schools have you preparing for it as early as year 2.

I love the internet, working in a university biology department, and having friends in medical school.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N:** More thanks for the very kind reviews, especially those who appreciate the research I'm putting into this piece. I like to be as accurate as I can be (for me it adds realism and I think that helps tell my story), so I'm constantly checking my facts. This part is a little shorter than previous ones, but it was a good stopping point and a good segue into what I want to tackle next.

* * *

Over a week passed before Mark got the green light to return to the loft and it wasn't a moment too soon. He'd watched enough Lifetime to last him a lifetime and he gladly welcomed the sound of the loft's rusty pipes instead of female weeping.

Still, the climb up the stairs almost did him in, sending him straight to the couch in a long fit of coughing that had him fumbling for his inhaler.

Maureen was the one that found it and thrust it into his hands. Seconds after using it, he felt the ache in his chest fade a bit. He relaxed.

"He looks like shit," was the first thing that Roger proclaimed.

"Roger!" Mimi hissed, hitting his arm. "He's sick."

"Hence why he looks like shit," Roger said matter-of-factly.

Mark rolled his eyes. "Thank you so much for your input, Roger, it's so greatly appreciated. I'm fine, though, which is actually far from shit."

Roger didn't look convinced and turned to Maureen.

"He's not fine, but he sounds a hell of that better than he did, trust me," Maureen answered. "And today the doctor said he was improving, which is why we're back."

Mark felt another cough coming on and tried to stifle it, but failed miserably.

"He's still coughing," Roger pointed out.

"Coughing lingers even after the infection is gone," Mark managed when he chest settled again.

"Yeah, remember when I had pneumonia? I coughed forever. And Collins' cough lasted a while, too," Mimi pointed out. "Besides, of all of us, Mark should know, right?"

Roger just waved his hand as a response and headed towards the phone. Mark noticed the answering machine light was blinking. That wasn't a surprise – since they screened almost every call it was always blinking – but he did wonder who called.

"Who called?" he asked Roger.

It was Mimi who answered him. "Your dad probably. He's been calling a lot lately."

His dad? His dad never called. His mom, sure, but his father didn't make the effort unless he was present when his mother made the call.

"He keeps calling?"

"Yeah, well…" Mimi looked at the floor. "I may have told him you were sick. He's worried."

"What?" he asked. "Why did you pick up the phone when my dad called? And why did you tell him I was sick?"

"I did it by accident," Mimi insisted. "And it kinda slipped out in the conversation."

"Conversation?" he repeated. "You had an actual conversation with my father?"

"She had an actual ten minute conversation with your father," Roger elaborated. "Not sure how, though. The one time I met your dad he didn't say two words to me."

"That's because you're not female," Maureen said. "Mark's dad loves me."

Actually, Mark's father felt just the opposite about Maureen, especially after he learned she left him for a woman, but Mark figured he could keep that little piece of information to himself.

"And he loves Mimi apparently." Roger's hand hovered above the play button. "You want to hear?" he asked Mark.

"Might as well," he muttered, wondering when his father had suddenly adapted a paternal instinct and cared so much about his son's well being. He had to want something else.

"Mark, it's, um, Dad again. One of your roommates told me weren't feeling well, so I hope you're doing better. Call me. I'll probably be at the office."

Short, sweet, to the point, but still confusing. To most, it would seem like an innocent call, but to Mark it was something unusual. And what was even more unusual, perhaps, was the fact that Mark was actually considering calling him back.

His father was currently proud of him and vocal about it. When he'd been pursuing film, he never said more than two sentences to others about it. But now Mark was doing exactly what he'd hoped to do and until Mark had to choose a specialty, his father could continue to believe that Mark would continue to follow the right path.

He sighed, coughed, shut his eyes and laid his head as far back into the couch cushions as he could manage. A moment later, he felt someone remove his glasses and lay a blanket on him and even though he wasn't tired, he figured a "nap" would make everyone go away and give him time to think.

Voice chattered around him and faded. Somewhere in between he must have fallen asleep, because when he finally cracked his eye open again, it was dark.

He thought he could see something that resembled his glasses on the coffee table and reached his hand out. Jackpot. After putting them on, he glanced at the clock and was shocked to discover it was just after eight-thirty p.m.

After getting up off the couch he found a note written in Mimi's loopy cursive on the table, held in place by a can of Campbell's soup.

"At Roger's gig. Neither of us figured you'd want a babysitter or want to eat what we could actually make, but Campbell's is mmm, mmm good."

It was signed, "Love M & R" and Mark couldn't help smiling at it and the sentiment behind it. Roger and Mimi's strengths did not lie in the kitchen, at least not beyond the tasks of boiling water and making ramen noodles, so Mark was often the one doing most of the cooking. And his culinary skills were adequate at best.

His stomach growled, so he dumped the soup into a pot and turned on the stove. As he waited for it to warm through, he found himself staring at the blinking answering machine light. Since it was blinking again, it meant at least one more new message, so he pressed the play button and listened.

The first message was from Maureen, checking up on him, the second was from Mimi checking up on him, and the third was another message from his dad.

He was still at the office, the message revealed and it ended with another simple "call me."

He stood there contemplating when the soup boiled over. Two minutes later, nursing a slightly burned hand and a bowl of chicken noodle, he dragged the phone over to the couch, and set his soup down. At the last minute he grabbed his camera, placed it across from him, turned it on, and dialed.

It rang four times and Mark figured his father had gone home for the night and there was no way he was calling the house. After the fifth ring, he was about to hang up when a voice finally answered.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Dad." He wondered if his father would even recognize his voice.

"Mark! It's good to hear from you finally."

"Yeah, well, I haven't been around much lately." That was the understatement of the year, really, because even before he had gotten sick, he was spending more and more time at the library on campus.

"I know. Your roommate – Mimi, I think her name was, nice girl – told me you were sick."

"Um, yeah, I was." A harsh cough followed his statement.

"You sound like you still are."

"A little." He muffled another cough, leaving it at that. He needed his father to get to the point and hoped he'd didn't have to run up his long-distance bill on way there. "What's up? I mean you don't usually call me. Like ever."

He heard his father sigh. "I know. I should call more often."

He could call all he wanted, but it never meant Mark would actually pick up the phone.

"Anyway," his father continued. "I was hoping you might actually come visit home for a week or two after the semester ends. Maybe help me out at the office."

More like let you show me off, Mark thought, but bit his tongue. "I don't think so, Dad. I told Dr. Brightman I'd work at the clinic for a few weeks before clinical orientation at the end of June."

"Andy could spare you for a week, I think, Mark. It will give you an introduction to family medicine - I think you'd really enjoy it. Plus I could use the help."

He didn't need the help at all, Mark knew, but the fact that he was even asking was something, though. His father didn't ask anyone for much, let alone Mark, just gave his silent air of disappointment. What did he expect? That after spending a week working at his family practice, his son would suddenly wake up and decide that Scarsdale was the place to be?

No way. Medical school was one thing. His father was another. Still, Andy's words made him wonder if they was ever more to his father than meets the eye.

"I'll see," he said, cursing himself as soon as the words came out. They left it open for debate inside of closed for discussion. He clenched his fist in frustration and pounded the couch cushion next to him, but all it did was trigger a long coughing fit that left him gasping for breath.

"Mark? Mark?"

His father's voice penetrated his brain again as he rubbed his chest. It sounded foreign to him simply because it actually sounded worried.

"I'm okay," he finally croaked out.

"Like hell you are," his father growled, his tone returning to one Mark was more accustomed to. Unhappy, firm, and serious. "What made you sick? Pneumonia?"

"Bronchitis," Mark admitted. "But it's better. No more antibiotics, and no more fever."

"Just a hell of lot of chest congestion. Mark, do you even have heat at that drafty place you call an apartment? It's February out there. Maybe your mother's right."

"Mom is not right, I'm not coming to Scarsdale, and I do have heat." Granted it wasn't working very well at the moment, but maintenance had been called and since Alison had pulled Benny out of the East Village, they were actually fairly prompt about fixing it as long as the rent had been paid.

"Fine." There was a slight pause on the other end before his father spoke again. "Mark, consider it. I'm only asking for a week or two."

The phone clicked before Mark could even respond and he held the receiver, staring at it a moment before resting it back onto its cradle. At least his dad had ended the conversation the same way he ended every conversation. Abruptly. That one word could accurately describe their entire relationship.

But he was making contact; that was different. But contact meant little. His mother called every week, trying to sound concerned and sincere and although he knew she loved him, she wanted him to have a life he couldn't see himself having.

So, deep down, his father loved him, too, and in another two years Mark would have the degree his parents always wanted him to have. But he'd never live the life they led, he simply wasn't meant to.

"I'll never be rich," he said quietly, "but I'll be making a difference."

He reached over and shut his camera off.

* * *

**A/N:** No real medical trivia here, except for those who care, once Mark hits year three, it's basically all clinical work with 4 to 12 week rotations through several areas of medicine (perhaps with a class or two here and there). Could made for some interesting footage on Mark's end :).


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: **Sorry for the slight delay, but I toyed with this chapter for a bit, Mimi's bit in particular, so don't be surprised if I edit later. As always, thank you for all of the kind reviews - I enjoy each and every one of them.

Also, I now have a wonderful beta, Idreneth, and thank her immensely. Any mistakes left are mine and mine alone.

* * *

When he got off the train, he wondered yet again just why the fuck he had come here.

"Here" was Scarsdale. It was June. A June that snuck up on him so quickly he hardly realized it was coming until his father started calling again. His head had been in finals mode, so when he had absently picked up the phone on Saturday instead of screening, he had been met with his father's voice and another request to come back to Scarsdale for a week.

He'd said maybe yet again, not ready to get into a major conversation when he had a final on Monday and a review class for step one of the medical license exam on Tuesday. He'd had no time to think and he'd ended the conversation as quickly as he could.

"Would working for your father for a week be so terrible?"

He'd finished his last exam and was staring at the answering machine's blinking red light yet again when Mimi asked him that question. His head had turned to her and he'd blinked.

"Yes."

"Why?" Mimi cocked her head, waiting for him to explain.

"You know Roger wouldn't be asking me this question."

Mimi shrugged. "I'm not Roger. I talked to your dad. He doesn't seem too bad and you're not moving to Scarsdale because if you did that me, Roger, Maureen, Joanne, and Collins would all have to go and drag your white ass back here. You'd go for a week. Didn't you say you could get credit or something for it?"

"I can. But I can also get credit for working at the clinic," he pointed out.

"You go and he'll stop calling," she countered.

Although he hated it, Mimi had a point. However, he didn't want to admit it.

"Mimi, do you talk to your parents? I mean, I actually don't know much about your family."

"I talk to my mom. A phone call now and then," she reveled. "Dad left when I was a baby and haven't a clue where the hell he could be. I love my mom, I just don't love her boyfriends."

"Boyfriends?" Mark asked.

Mimi nodded. "Yeah. I was pretty poor growing up and had a lot of brothers and sisters. With so many mouths to feed, it wasn't a surprise that my mother was looking for Mr. Right."

"She never found him I'm guessing?" He didn't want to push Mimi, but couldn't help asking.

"No," Mimi answered. "She found a lot of Mr. Wrongs, though. It's why I left, really."

"Because your mother had too many boyfriends?"

Mimi shook her head. "No, because she had one that decided feeling me up was a good idea."

"Oh." He wasn't sure what else to say or what else Mimi wanted to share. He shifted his feet, feeling slightly uncomfrotable.

"Mark, it's okay." She joined him next to the answering machine. "I left and I didn't look back for over two years. By then I'd gotten into drugs and just found out I was positive. I wasn't sure what to do, so I scraped together enough cash to take a bus home. I saw my mother on the beat-up porch, a new man and a new baby in her arms. So much had changed, yet nothing had. She saw me and I really though I could approach her when the baby started to cry. I bolted.

"Funny thing is once upon a time, my mother and I used to be close. I miss it."

"But not enough to go back, right?" He might be drawing a conclusion asking such thing, but something told him he wasn't. Mimi's past had always been a mystery. If she'd told Roger anything, he hadn't said a word. But that was Roger's nature, after all, Roger's own past was another gaping black hole. All Mark knew was that Roger had a mother living in somewhere in Connecticut.

She shook her head. "No, I'd go back. It's just what I'd go back to that would scare me. I never wonder why until now I've sucked at holding down a romantic relationship. No matter how hard you try, you can't forget where you came from. So a week in Scarsdale really doesn't sound so terrible."

"It doesn't? Do you remember Maureen's parents?" he asked, and Mimi nodded. "Well, they live down the street from mine."

Mimi laughed. "Well, if you put it that way…though, in fairness, I suppose her parents tried to support her. They came. Of course, they also asked you if you'd consider getting back together with Maureen, but they came." She started absently twirling her hair. "Why don't you like your father?"

He was quiet a moment, wondering if this was a conversation he truly wanted to dive into. He didn't speak about his father to anyone. Maureen knew bits and pieces, but they had grown up together, so she'd been able to easily draw her own conclusions without him really having to say a word. After Brown and after moving to New York, Mark figured his relationship with his father didn't need to ever be discussed, especially since it barely existed in the first place.

But Mimi had told him something so personal, so easily, that he knew he should try and adapt a page from her book.

"He's…cold," he finally answered, the words coming slowly. "Distant. Never approved of my choices, or if he did, never showed much emotion about it. Or much emotion at all. He was straight to the point with me. But with every else outside our family, he was Dr. Cohen, the great doctor with the great practice and the great bedside manner. Too bad he never showed me any of that side of him."

He sighed. "Until now. Now, I swear sometimes I think I'm talking to a different person."

"Maybe you are," Mimi said. "If I've learned anything lately, it is that people change. I'm living proof of it."

That she was, but Mark hardly believed his father had truly changed the second Mark had announced he wanted to go to medical school. "Do you think your mom might have changed?"

Mimi took a breath, seeming to consider his question. "She can't change," she whispered. "She tried and I got sick of seeing her fail. Just like you Mark, I tell myself I can do better and that her life isn't mine."

"It isn't. Roger loves you."

"I know." She gave him a small smile. "Though could you nudge him a little so that he tells me that more often? It helps."

Giving Mimi a certain ring would help, too, and perhaps Mark needed to mention that to Roger - tactfully, of course. Though she still harbored some insecurity, Mimi had gotten wiser, once remarking that seeing Angel had awakened things in herself she never knew existed. After considering that, Mark had picked up the phone and given his father an answer.

An answer that led him to Penn Station and right back to Scarsdale.

He clutched his duffle bag as he walked into the station, scanning the people for the face he was almost dreading seeing.

"Mark!" His mother's shrill voice cut through the crowd and before he could even respond she was wrapping her arms around him. Over her shoulder, he saw his dad, standing a few away.

"Mom, you're killing me here," he said, breaking away from her embrace.

"I'm doing no such thing," she responded, taking a moment to study him. "You're still too thin, you know."

"Katherine, he's fine. You can catch up at home. I have patients to see this afternoon."

His mother sighed and nodded. It was as nothing had changed again. His dad's brisk tone shined through. Maybe he'd made a mistake coming here. How was he going to survive an entire week?

Mom was all chatter in the car during the short drive to the house. She went on and on about nothing at all; the only thing Mark remembered hearing was that Cindy was coming for dinner. They pulled into the driveway and he followed his parents through the front door, feeling every bit the outsider.

"You do have time for lunch here before you go back to the office, don't you, Andrew?" His mother had started removing items from the fridge the second she got through the door. A restaurant lunch wouldn't do, she had said when his father had suggested quickly stopping by the country club. Katherine Cohen was every bit the housewife, and her cooking skills were something the whole neighbor raved about.

Mark watched his father hesitate before answering. "I suppose, if it won't take too long. I thought you could come with me this afternoon, Mark. I'll give you a tour."

Jumping right in, Mark supposed. "Um, okay," he answered. Every sentence was a struggle and he wondered how long it would take before he and his father ran out of things to talk about. The phone conversations he'd had with man leading up to this visit had all been under ten minutes.

Lunch was no different. His mother had put a lot of care into it, but Mark didn't taste a thing, moving his food around his plate more than actually eating it. For some reason, his stomach was in a knot as he got closer to working with his father. Perhaps it was a small piece of him that believed it made them the same person.

For Roger it did. The musician hadn't taken to Mark's "vacation" very well, but Mark had told him to shut up, because he needed to get his father off his back. Needed to prove something, and that it needed to be done in Scarsdale. Roger hadn't believed a single word he'd said, but let him be. He had even seemed to understand.

Mark was certainly glad someone did, because he sure as hell didn't have a clue.

The drive to his office was brief and small talk was made on the way. His dad asked about Mark's classes, about taking the first part of the licensing exam, even about working in Andy's office.

"Um, I work in the clinic, really. The free one Andy helps manage downtown," Mark admitted.

"I know. I told him you'd like it there more than working in his main practice." They hit a read light, and his father tapped his hand on the steering wheel, his eyes focused at the road ahead of him.

"You did?" Mark was surprised, not that he did such a thing, but that he'd admit it. One thing that was never clear was his father's intentions. "Did Cindy…?"

"No." He turned to look at Mark.

"Then, how…?"

The light changed to green and his father's gaze shifted back to the street. He was silent for the next couple of minutes, making a few turns until they pulled into the parking lot of the medical building where his office was housed. He pulled the key from the ignition and Mark's hand moved to the door handle to let himself out when his dad spoke again.

"That one time your mother and I were in the city for a show and we dropped by. Your mother's idea, not mine. I saw the prescription bottle on the bathroom sink. Your friend Roger's name was on it." He paused, blinking. "You want to help him."

Mark found he had no clue how to respond to this revelation. His father had paid attention enough to draw an almost eerily correct conclusion about his son. What else did he know?

"I, I—" he stammered, swallowing. "I want to make a difference."

"We all do," his father said quietly. "Come on, the schedule's busy this afternoon."

The conversation hit another abrupt end as his father opened the car door and got out.

* * *

The schedule was busy and Mark found his father took almost no time before throwing him head first into the fire. Nancy, the office manager, took pity on him and managed to briefly explain the color coded filing system before his father grabbed a file from the stack and dragged Mark into an exam room.

It continued on like this the whole afternoon. Mark was introduced to each patient, many smiling brightly at the idea of family working together. His father did all the work, leaving him to observe.

He saw a completely different view of his father and it was staggering, to say the least. So much so, that he wished he had his camera to document it.

His father smiled, was friendly and comforting. He made jokes, asked about a patient's family or friends. Made even the most nervous seem at ease. He was almost convinced his father had been replaced with a pod person.

This wasn't the Andrew Cohen he knew. Oh, no. This was someone else that looked exactly like him. Mark could even pinpoint the transformation. His father was direct and firm with his staff, face empty as he picked up, opened, and scanned patient files. But the second he stepped into an exam room, it changed.

By six o'clock, Mark wasn't sure what to think of his father at all. He sat on the plush waiting room couch, silently watching as his dad shepherded the last patient out the door. The door clicked, and his father's smile left as he stuck the file into the proper pile.

"That's about it," he said, looking up at Mark. "Ready to go?"

Ready to go? No, he wasn't. He had a million questions and he knew the minute his father stepped outside of this office, he wouldn't get a single answer to any of them.

He shook his head. "Not yet." His father looked confused. "Dad…" He let his sentence trail off, not brave enough to utter words "what happens to you when you get home?"

His father grabbed his coat, searching the pockets for his keys. "Get on with it, Mark. I don't have all night."

"You like it here." It wasn't what he wanted to say, but it was a start. It was a complete sentence.

"Yes, I do. It's my job."

"Yeah," Mark breathed. "I guess it is."

His father flipped the lights. Another conversation had ended and Mark was left wondering exactly which person he had spent hating the past several years of his life.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N:** Sorry this took so long! A friend from college is in town and attention has been diverted away from writing a bit :). But, as usual, thank you for all the kind words and please keep those comments coming!

* * *

The next day he brought his camera to his father's office. Shoved it into his messenger bag and turned it on without even telling his dad it existed, catching a snippet here and a snippet there. If his father noticed the lens staring at him, he didn't comment. That in itself was another oddity. Before his father couldn't say enough things about how film was not the career Mark should be pursuing and that it was an excuse for him not to succeed.

Those words had stung originally, but Mark had moved past them, or at least he had thought he had. Now, they came back to haunt him and left thinking critically about the man that had said him. Was he the same man that had enough observation skills to know exactly why Mark was doing what he was doing without Mark so much as saying one word? And if that was the case, had Mark inherited them?

He didn't care too much for the idea that he and his father had things in common, but Mimi had said she knew she couldn't escape where she came from. Was Scarsdale ingrained in him, whether he liked it or not, lying right next to what he considered his bohemian spirit? He hated the thought and the fact that it even entered his head at all.

In the end, rhetorical questions were tiring and only opened the door for more questions. He just needed to finish the week at his father's practice and move on before his head exploded.

"Room three."

Mark blinked when his father shoved a file into his hands. "What?"

"I've got a new patient in room three. I need a more complete history. Andy told me you've taken one before."

He swallowed, suddenly finding his mouth dry. He had, true, but that didn't mean he was good at it.

"So go. I'll be there in a minute." His father was walking away before Mark could even respond.

Great, he thought. He was nervous. So much so that his palms were sweating and he hadn't a clue why. At the clinic, this was never as big deal. Was this because it was his father? He didn't give a damn what the man thought, so it couldn't be…or was it? The feel of failure was a hard one to ignore.

He took a deep breath. He wasn't a failure. He tightened his grip on the file and walked into room three.

He was on autopilot, barely noticing when his dad entered and leaned against the wall. In fact, if he was honest, he hadn't sensed his father's presence until the man spoke, introducing himself to the patient. He stepped forward and took the file from Mark's hands.

It was only when Mark stepped back that he noticed his father was smiling.

* * *

He survived. Made through an entire week at his childhood home, an entire week of his overbearing mother, three dinners with his perfect sister, her husband, and her children, and five straight days of working in his father's practice watching a person he never even knew existed treat a majority of the Scarsdale community.

There was no doubt it, he now had an interesting and new perspective. Had some of it on film, in fact, and it would make for some interesting viewing later. However, he wasn't quite sure it would answer any of his questions without creating even more. So he shoved his camera back into his bag and let his father drive him to the train station, trying his best not to think about it.

"So what do you think of family practice? Not bad, right?"

Another ride in the car meant another round of small talk. Only this time, the conversation took on a whole different meaning for Mark.

"It's all right," Mark admitted. He didn't hate it – there was interaction and nice people, but they were all upper middle class. Their problems seemed to pale in comparison to the people Mark saw at the clinic and in the next two years, Mark knew he'd see even more variety as he completed his rotations. Family practice was nice, yes, but did it make a difference?

It made a difference to his father and made a difference to the patients he treated and that was certainly something Mark couldn't deny. But he also couldn't ignore the fact that it wasn't what he wanted for himself. He was looking for more.

He decided to take a leap, end this discussion and maybe even avoid another trip like this home. "I'm not going to join your practice if that's what you were hoping to achieve this week, you know."

There, he'd said it. Said it to the man currently paying all his school bills and even his rent.

"I know," his father responded. "I wasn't trying to convince you."

"You weren't?" Then just what were you trying to do, Mark wanted to shout, but bit his tongue. Even after seeing another side of the man, Mark doubted his father was simply trying to bond with his son. Mark might be getting the degree, but he was doing everything else all wrong.

"No." They pulled up towards the station. "You did a good job this week. I'm proud of you."

The words sounded foreign and Mark struggled to believe they were true, but couldn't help thinking why.

"You're proud," he muttered. "Because I'm going to medical school, right? You weren't proud when I was filming."

His father flinched and Mark felt a burst of courage emerge he didn't know existed. "Well, Dad, I'm still filming. Will always be filming. You figured out exactly why I'm doing what I'm doing, so you should know I'm not about to throw my camera in the nearest dumpster. What do you think of that?"

His father tapped the steering wheel, eyes trained straight ahead. "I think you're going to miss your train."

"Right," Mark said. He hadn't expected an answer. Perhaps, he was being too harsh, but he didn't care. He opened the passenger door and grabbed his bag, ready to leave.

A hand on his shoulder stopped him.

"I'm sorry. Take that for what it's worth." The words were low and over so quickly, Mark wasn't even sure he heard them. The hand was gone and his father's face was blank again, staring at the road.

"Your train," he repeated.

"Yeah," Mark muttered, getting out. His father pulled away a second later, leaving him bewildered at the curb.

He wasn't sure what had happened; all he knew was he needed to get the hell back to New York City.

* * *

The train ride felt like it lasted forever. Mark closed his eyes, telling his brain it wasn't allowed to think. It didn't work. His father's apology – if that's what it really was – echoed in his mind. He didn't need this; he was perfectly happy having a non-existent relationship with his father. It was straightforward and easy.

When he opened the door to the loft he was so emotionally exhausted that he almost missed seeing Mimi sitting on the couch swathed in blankets, crying her eyes out. He did a bit of a double take; it was the last thing he had expected to see right now.

Obviously, she didn't expect him to find her in this state either, because when she looked up, she immediately started swiping at the mascara trails below her eyes.

"Mark, I…" She shifted awkwardly, trying her very best to look presentable.

Maybe he shouldn't ask, but he did anyway. His own problems were pushed to the side, temporarily forgotten. Mimi was his friend and something was wrong. Very wrong.

He sat down next to her. "Have a bad day?"

She swallowed, and opened her mouth to answer, but instead the tears she had been hoping to hide fell. In between sobs, she managed to nod and Mark just reached his arms out to give her a hug, knowing she'd talk when she was ready.

"I had a miscarriage." The words were soft, muttered after the sobs had settled.

He was shocked; that was the last thing he'd thought she'd say. He'd thought maybe she and Roger had had a huge fight, not…

"I didn't know you were pregnant."

Mimi sniffed, holding back another sob. "Neither did I," she admitted. "But I was bleeding a lot and I went to the clinic and…" She shook her head. "I can't believe this happened. We've been so fucking careful, just so this wouldn't happen!"

She was silent for a moment and Mark hadn't a clue about what to say to her, so he settled for keeping a hand on her shoulder.

"The thing is," she finally continued, her voice soft, but more controlled. "I would have wanted it. More than anything."

"I know," Mark agreed. He knew why Mimi and Roger were so careful – fear. For Roger, Mark figured part of it had to do with the idea of actually being a father, but mostly it was because of reality and the serious fact that any child of theirs could be born with HIV.

"It's selfish, though. I'd have made my baby sick." Mimi closed her eyes.

"It's not selfish." He rubbed her shoulder unconsciously, wondering what, if anything, could make her feel better. "You know, there is a chance you wouldn't pass on the virus to a baby."

Mimi's eyes opened and she studied him a second before responding. "Really?"

"They're doing studies. Results take forever, but if you stayed on the AZT, maybe."

For a split second, he thought he saw hope in her eyes. But it faded as she shook her head again.

"It wouldn't be fair," she said. "Even if she didn't get AIDS, Roger and I wouldn't be…" She started playing with her hands, unable to complete the thought. Angel's death, Mimi's close call, and Collins' illness made mortality seem even closer than ever.

"Besides," Mimi continued. "Roger hasn't even said he wants to marry me, why would he ever want to have a baby with me?"

"He loves you." It was a simple fact. Roger was just slow on the uptake, sometimes.

Mimi flashed him a small smile. "I know." She took a deep breath. "I just wanted this so bad, Mark." Her calm exterior started to fade again and she fought to hold the tears back. "I really, really did."

Mark just opened his arms again and let her cry. Internally, he sighed. She needed to talk to Roger; he needed to be one holding her and comforting her. He needed to get his ass home.

As if on cue, the loft's door opened and Roger walked in. Mark was thankful Mimi was turned away from the door. Mark met Roger's eyes before the man could even utter a word, conveying the message that he needed to take Mark's spot. Now.

"Mimi, honey, what's wrong?"

Roger walked around and crouched down next to the couch. Mimi looked up, shocked that he was even there. For a second nothing happened, then Mimi transferred herself out of Mark's arms and into Roger's, and the crying continued. Words were muttered and Mark snuck off the couch, grabbed his camera, and headed out, leaving the couple to talk.

* * *

"Could Mimi and I really have a healthy baby?"

Mark almost choked on his coffee. It was early, way too early for either Roger or Mimi to be up, so both the question and the voice asking it caught him off guard.

"It's seven fifteen in the morning," he said, "What the hell are you doing up?"

"Couldn't sleep," Roger replied. "You didn't answer my question."

Mark put down his mug, studying the chip on its rim for a few seconds. "There are studies pending, worries about the effect of AZT on a developing fetus." His finger traced the rim of the mug, around and around. "But children they thought had developed HIV from their mothers have turned out to have only gotten the antibodies for it instead."

Roger blinked. "What does that mean? They're not sick?"

Mark looked up and shrugged. "It means that they are noticing that HIV positive mothers that are being treated have a good chance of producing a child that is HIV free, yes."

"Shit." Roger leaned against the table, jostling Mark's mug slightly. Mark hissed when the warm liquid splashed his fingers.

"Sorry," Roger mumbled, shaking his head.

"It's okay." Mark shook his finger and took a sip from the mug, grimacing at the bitter taste. While the caffeine jolt it provided was often needed, Mark could never quite get used to drinking his coffee black. "How's Mimi?"

"Upset. She's sleeping."

"What about you?"

Roger drummed his fingers on the tabletop. "I'm cool. Can't miss what you never near you had, right?"

Wrong, Mark thought. His own problems with his father were a testament to that. "Roger."

"I'd be a shitty dad," Roger admitted. "No role model to go by."

"I don't think many of us have great role models. You're selling yourself short." Roger made mistakes, but they all had. Still, Mark, himself had questioned his own paternal instinct once, when Maureen had missed a period and panicked.

"Maybe," Roger reluctantly agreed. "I guess I always thought there was never a chance, you know."

"A chance for what?" Mark knew the answer to his question already, but if Roger was willing to talk, he'd do anything to encourage the process.

"For me and Mimi to ever have…" Roger paused. "I bought her a ring."

Mark raised an eyebrow. "You did?"

"Yeah," Roger said. "Do you think now, though, is a bad time? I'd saved a bit, thought Saturday would work."

It's about time, Mark thought, but out loud he responded with, "Now is the perfect time. She won't say no, Roger."

"She better not," Roger replied. "Because I can't return it."

"Trust me on this one." The coffee mug was empty and into the sink it went. Mark was happy for them, truly happy, but a tiny piece of him wondered just what else would change once Mimi and Roger tied the knot. Maybe they'd have that baby Mimi wanted so badly. If that was the case, the loft wasn't the place to raise it.

More growing up and moving on, he realized, but he didn't have much time to dwell. A glance at the clock and a muttered good-bye, and Mark was out the door, hoping he wouldn't be late for orientation.

* * *

**A/N: **More medical facts I learned:

As of today, with proper medical care, the chances of an HIV infected mother passing the virus to her child is extremely low. Of course, by 1993ish (about where we are in the fic now), studies were only midstream concerning HIV and pregnancy. Some babies were testing positive at birth and later testing clean - showing that they had only gotten the antibodies from their mother, not the virus (today tests can detect the difference between antibodies and the actual HIV virus after the birth). As early as 1994 did studies reveal that with treatment, the chances of transfering the virus were much less than expected. Other things such as not breast feeding and having a C-section can also lessen the risk as well.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: **Pointless short humor fluff chapter, but it demanded to be written. Return to plot in the next chapter, I promise (and oh the angst to come...)

* * *

"You need to get laid."

Mark rolled his eyes. He was sprawled out on the couch, relishing the day he had off this week. He was in the middle of the rotation from hell and he was stressed, even to the point where he had actually ranted to Roger and a visiting Collins about how his current supervisor was a complete prick.

Roger's answer to Mark's issue was sex. Of course.

"Yes, because me getting laid will so fix all of my problems this week, Roger."

Roger shrugged. "You'd be smiling, at least. You always got that goofy grin on your face every time you and Maureen went at it. Hey, come to think of it, have you even gotten any since Maureen?"

Shit. Mark didn't want to go there. He had enough issues with his own loneliness and lack of a love life, but Roger would never leave him alone if he went there.

"Holy crap, you haven't, have you?" Roger laughed, turning to Collins. "He really needs to get laid."

Collins grinned. "I'll say. You and Maureen broke up over three years ago. You sure you aren't still pining for her?"

"No, I am not pining for Maureen!" he defended. Collins opened his mouth again, but Mark continued before the man could even utter a word. "And before you even think of saying it, it does not mean I still in love with her, either. I couldn't be more over her, in fact. Things have just been…slow."

"They sound like they've been at a standstill, if you ask me," Collins commented. "Isn't there anyone at school? Some pretty little med student that's just as stressed as you are? Could be good for both of you. I know that when I'm frustrated with work and grading, a warm body does wonders."

Roger shook his head. "Without Angel, you're such a man-whore, Tom."

"You should talk, Davis. Remember those rock-star days? You thought you were God's gift to women. And men," Collins shot back. Mark figured there had to be a story behind that last bit he was unaware of and he made a mental note to follow up on it.

"Wait…" Collins continued, "if the fellow med student idea doesn't work, we could round up of your groupies. Bet they'd be up for it."

"Up for it?" Mark repeated. "This isn't a quest to help poor Mark get some. I'm not a charity case."

Roger and Collins exchanged a look.

"Fellow student is the best bet, I think," Roger said, appearing to ignore what Mark had just said.

Mark resisted the urge to rub his forehead. He'd had a headache before, but now it was getting worse. Where was Mimi when he needed her? Maybe she'd at least tell Roger to back off.

Or not. When Mimi entered, Maureen in toe, a moment later, he wished she'd stayed out in the depths of the city on her bridal gown search.

"Hey, Mimi, don't you think Mark would benefit from getting laid?"

"Well, duh," Mimi answered, as if it were the most logical answer in the world. Of course it had to be. There was a reason she and Roger were together and the walls were thin enough for Mark to draw a few conclusions. She dropped her bags next to couch. "Don't you think so, Maureen?"

Mark groaned. All he needed was Joanne to drop on by and his sex life – or lack of one, if he were honest with himself – could be the topic of discussion amongst all of his friends.

"Sex is always a good thing," Maureen chimed in, plopping down on the couch next to him. "You were always happier the morning after."

"Yeah, too bad he hasn't had a morning after in over three years," Roger said.

"Roger!" Mark hissed. He needed this conversation to end. Now. Seriously. Either that or the loft needed to suddenly open up and swallow him whole.

Mark gulped. Okay, swallow, not the best words he could have used. Maybe getting laid wasn't such a bad idea.

"Three years?" Maureen repeated, looking at him. "But you and I…not since me?" Maureen looked a little shocked. "I mean, I know I'm that good, but seriously, Mark…wow." She nodded her head. "You really need to get laid."

Okay, getting laid might be a bad thing, but this conversation certainly was. "Could we really stop talking about my sex life?" he pleaded.

"Collins thinks fellow med student," Roger supplied.

"Oh, yeah," Maureen agreed. "There was one in his study group last semester. Brown hair, great eyes, fabulous breasts."

"Maureen…"

"What?" Maureen batted her eyes, innocent as could be. "You were always all over my chest, pookie, so she'd be perfect."

Mark wanted to disappear. "Could we leave Kara out of this?"

"Ooo, Kara!" Mimi chimed in. "She has a name."

"Yes, she has a name," he told her, "and a boyfriend, as a matter of fact. So can we please stop discussing my sex life? I am fine, I don't need to get laid, I need to survive this next rotation, edit my latest footage and, most importantly, end this conversation."

"We're just trying to help, Mark," Collins insisted. "Lighten up a little. You've been working too hard."

"Way too hard," Mimi agreed. "It's too bad about Kara. I know a girl at work, though, and—" He met her eyes and she stopped mid-sentence. "Sorry, Mark. She's nice. I wouldn't just set you up with someone random."

He gave her a smile. Mimi meant well. "I don't want to be set up with anyone."

"But, Marky, meeting someone would be good for you." Maureen was pouting. In front of everyone. Wonderful.

He averted his eyes away from her. "I don't have time to meet someone. I have rotations. For the next two years."

"Which is exactly why the fellow student idea is the best one," Roger said, getting up and reaching down to peer in Mimi's bags.

Mimi batted his hand away. "You can't look in there."

"Why?" Roger protested. "You buy a dress already? It's only been a month, Meems. We haven't even set a date."

"I'm not telling you what I bought," Mimi answered, "just that you're not allowed to see it. And whose fault is it that we haven't set a date?"

Mark almost breathed a sigh of relief. Wedding matters would probably lead to an argument between Roger and Mimi, but at least it would divert attention from him for a bit.

"We don't need to get into this now, Mimi, we need to get Mark laid." Roger left the bags and walked around the couch, clasping a hand on Mark's shoulder. "Soon."

Mark resisted the urge to groan again. "You aren't giving up, are you?"

"I could keep going all night. So, med student, right?"

"I wonder if Kara and her boyfriend are serious," Maureen mused.

Mark just sighed. "God, I'm fucked," he muttered, not realizing his choice of words until they left his mouth.

"Actually, you're not," Collins pointed out. "Which is the problem."

"Right," Mark said with another sigh. This was going to be one hell of a night and he figured in end, he'd just find himself alone in his own bed.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N:** I had to put Benny in here, even if just for a little bit, so he's here this time and the real angst gets pushed back another chapter :). Again, love the reviews – they motivate the hell out of this gal!

* * *

So he didn't get laid, but he did run into someone he'd never thought he'd see again.

After not seeing him for the last few years, seeing Benny smack dab out of the blue was a little surprising. He didn't expect to meet up with him and he sure as hell didn't expect to meet up with him in a delivery room in the middle of his obstetrics rotation.

So naturally, he also didn't expect the first baby he ever delivered to be Benny's.

He was petrified the moment the resident he was shadowing asked him if he'd like to be able to say that he delivered a baby today. Utterly and completely petrified. He had frozen, feet locked in place, and the resident had simply grinned, saying his latest case was as textbook as could be and would be an awesome experience.

Oh yeah. It's awesome to discover you're staring at the most private parts of your once-extremely close friend's wife. It's even worse when your once-extremely close friend recognizes you right off the bat.

"Mark!" Benny winced as Alison griped his hand. "Please, baby, no so tight."

"Not so tight?" Alison hissed. "I'm in fucking labor, Benny, and it fucking hurts!"

The resident raised an eyebrow. "You know them?"

Mark suddenly got the urge to back slowly out of the room. Maybe no one would notice. Right.

"Um…" he stammered.

The resident waved a hand. "Great! Makes it even more special, then." She pulled up a stool, smiled at Alison, and introduced Mark.

"A student?" Alison repeated.

Benny just gaped. "When the hell did you decide to go to medical school?"

The resident ignored him. "He may be doing the dirty work, but I'm staying put as well, so don't worry. You're doing great, right on schedule at ten centimeters. In just a moment, we'll have you start pushing."

The next hour and a half was a blur. Mark tried to block Benny out of his line of vision and concentrate, following directions. The resident was right, the delivery ended up being textbook and before he knew it, there was a squirming human being in his hands.

He grinned like a complete idiot; he couldn't help it. Sure, he done a procedure here and there since he started his third year in July, but they never seemed as important as holding a new person. He almost forgot to breathe for a second and the resident had to tap his shoulder before he realized Alison was asking him a question.

He shook his head. "Sorry. It's a boy."

Mark handed off the child and wished he had his camera. Birth may not be pretty – it was actually fairly disgusting, really, and if were his wife, Mark was sure he'd be very nauseous right now - but it was worth documenting. Especially since later on, he'd have a hard time telling himself that he'd actually helped bring life into the world.

It was opposite of why he'd gone to medical school in the first place. He wanted to prevent death. New life, he supposed, was as far from death as he'd ever get.

Not that he was ready to drop everything and become an OB. That was definitely not his calling. But it would have made for some interesting footage.

A few hours later, he made his rounds, quieting knocking on the door to Alison's room before entering. Alison was sleeping and the baby was in Benny's arms, being rocked back and forth in one the maternity wards padded rocking chairs.

Mark thought about retreating. He could check other patients and come back, giving Benny a chance to bond with his son. But Benny looked up just as he was about to turn back towards the hall.

"Mark."

"Hi." He shoved his hands into his lab coat pockets awkwardly.

"You never answered my question."

Mark shrugged. "Well, I was kinda busy at the time. So was Alison, if you remember."

Benny smiled. "Yeah." He shifted the baby slightly and he responded by thrusting his little fists in the air. "He really is perfect, isn't he?"

"He's a beautiful baby," Mark agreed.

"He is," Benny confirmed again. "It's amazing, really. You never think you'll be able to connect and then you just do."

Mark could only nod numbly. He briefly debated if that was how every parent was supposed to think when they held their child in their arms. He was sure his mother awed, but his father...well even with recent events, they never quite made that connection.

So, he changed the subject. "To answer your question, I went back to school a while ago."

"No camera," Benny commented. "You give that up?"

"It's at home. Most mothers don't take kindly to having a camera lens in their face and it makes my job a little more difficult. But I still shoot. Been cutting footage together. I needed to do this," he looked down at his coat, "but not for any of the reasons you think." I'm not selling out, he silently added, hoping Benny got his intention.

Benny just nodded before turning his face back to his son. Mark had never seen such a look of pure bliss on Benny's face before. Benny, the man that was determined to succeed and would do anything to do so, even sell out, was entranced by a soul that weighed just under eight pounds.

"So, how's Westport?" Mark had wondered what his friend was up to. Wondered if Benny could settle down, especially after Alison found out about his infidelity.

"It's all right," Benny said. "Alison's father has me managing some property closer to home, now. Handed the East side off to someone else."

"I know. We actually have working heat now. And electricity. Management company, even."

"Yeah." Benny looked back up at him. "You know, my thing with Mimi, it never meant anything. I told Roger that. Alison forgave me, someday I'm hoping he will, too."

"Well, it's Roger." Roger didn't forgive and forget so easily, even after he and Mimi had found a new chance together. "Roger and Mimi are engaged now, though."

Benny raised an eyebrow. "Roger, engaged? Seriously?"

"A lot has happened since Angel. Since Mimi's disappearance, really."

"I can see that." Benny paused for a moment, once again gently shifting the bundle in his arms. "I still think CyberArts could have been great. I'm not about to change my mind."

"I wouldn't expect you to." It would have been too simple. Benny was Benny and that meant success. Mark had seen it coming, but never had been able to admit to himself. Benny had set the loft was temporary and that when he made it, he'd never forget his friends. But he had, for a while at least, and when he'd come back to see that, drifting had already happened. The thing with Mimi didn't help. Alison's strong hand was probably the best thing that could have happened.

"But the dog," Benny said. "I still owe Angel for the dog."

Mark grinned at that. "No new dog?"

"No. I said either dog or baby. You can see which one we ended up picking."

"Good choice." Mark took a few steps forward and looked down at the little boy. Small eyes opened and stared at him a few seconds before closing again. "You and Alison decide on a name?"

Benny nodded. "Benjamin Mark."

Mark was surprised, to say the least. "You don't have to do that. I did what any other doctor in this hospital could have easily done."

"Alison liked the name," Benny insisted. "Just be flattered, okay? Let Roger and Mimi name their first born directly after you. Then you can gush."

If Roger and Mimi had any children, that is, Mark wondered, but kept the thought to himself. Benny wasn't part of their inner group anymore so he didn't need details.

No, Benny was just the guy he met at Brown who told him filming wasn't a waste of his time and persuaded him to go to New York after graduation. To blow off his parents and screw medical school. That the real money and success wasn't in Scarsdale, or Rhode Island. That it was in New York.

For that, Mark could never ever forget Benny, even after his rise to the top. Benny was just trying to make it, just like they all were. Searching for his path.

He was glad he'd seen Benny. Glad he was doing all right, that he seemed happy. That mattered to him.

He mulled that fact over for the remainder of his shift and the long on-call that followed. When he finally set foot back in the loft two long days later, he was exhausted, yet somewhat elated.

"How was the hospital?" Roger asked from his spot by the window. Guitar was in hand as usual. Mimi was on the couch, studying. She was hoping to get her GED next month.

"I delivered my first baby," he said, hearing the pride in his voice. The same pride he'd felt the moment someone else other than his friends complimented him on his first documentary.

Mimi put down her book. "Really? Wow. Was it a boy or a girl?"

"Boy," he answered. "And you'll never guess who's it was."

* * *

"Close on Roger, who is way more nervous than he'll ever admit."

"I am not!" Roger pulled on his tie as he spoke, trying to loosen it from around his neck. Mark had to grin from behind his camera. Roger never wore a tie. Roger hated ties. Hated them so much that he had no clue how to even tie one. Collins had laughed and given him a crash course. Roger had been tugging at it ever since.

But this was his wedding day and Mimi was wearing a dress, so Roger was wearing a tie. And a jacket. Both items needed to be purchased for the occasion and Mark knew they'd probably get shoved in the back of Roger's closet once they were done. Roger just wasn't a tie kind of guy.

In the end, Roger and Mimi had decided to keep it simple and cost-effective, meaning it equaled a trip to city hall, a new stylish white dress for Mimi, and a celebration afterwards at the Life with champagne. Mimi had invited her mother, but unfortunately she couldn't make it. Roger made no mention of family, saying all the people he cared about were already here and there was no need to invite anyone else.

Mark couldn't argue with that. Parents got in the way and it was Roger and Mimi's day. If Mark ever got married, he'd seriously consider city hall before ever involving his mother in any shape or form.

They had picked a day in the middle of week where Collins wasn't teaching, Joanne could escape the office, and Mark miraculously wasn't on call. The ceremony was short and sweet, with Maureen and Joanne off on Mimi's side and Collins and he on Roger's. He soaked in every second, documenting it on film and in his mind.

He hadn't had a chance to truly film his friends for awhile and it felt great to be able to capture the looks of content on both Roger's and Mimi's faces.

"Congratulations!" Joanne shouted when it was all over and the judge pronounced them officially married. She searched her pockets a moment and pulled out an envelope, presenting it to newlyweds. "We know money's tight for you both, but every couple needs a special night or two so we all chipped in."

"Including me," Maureen insisted.

"I said everyone, honey, so of course I meant you," Joanne said.

Behind his lens, Mark grinned. Joanne and Maureen were always on the edge of a fight and time hadn't changed that. Time had only made resolutions much faster and easier.

"Open it," he said to Roger and he zoomed in on Roger's hands as they ripped through envelope.

"Shit. The Plaza. You guys didn't need to go this. Mimi and I were going to go to the Jersey shore."

"You can do that after two fun-filled evenings at the Plaza," Collins told him. "It's your wedding night. Enjoy luxury for a change."

Mimi was grinning from ear to ear. She detached herself from Roger's arm and proceeded to hug each one of them. "I've never been to the Plaza. Thank you." She paused right before she reached him, smiling directly into the camera. "Put down that camera and give me a hug, Mark."

The camera was passed off to Collins who awed when Mimi squeezed him so tight. Mimi's happiness was contagious and Mark wanted to get every single moment of this event on film so they could always remember this day. It didn't matter that it was just city hall and that Mimi's dress wasn't fancy and that Roger took his tie off the second the ceremony ended. All he focused on was how Roger looped his arm around Mimi and pulled her close.

"Let's go celebrate, then, Mrs. Davis."

Mark let his camera roll all way to the Life, only relinquishing it once in order to give a toast to Roger and Mimi. Time stood still, it seemed, that day, Mark would realize later. Collins looked healthy, Maureen and Joanne weren't fighting, Mimi glowed, Roger looked truly and deeply satisfied and he didn't feel lonely or alone. It was like the night after Maureen's protest all over again.

But nothing lasted. Reality always set in soon enough, whether you want it to or not.

* * *

**A/N:** Tiny little medical bit for those who care: Third-year students can end up delivering a baby while supervised. In fact, third year is all about hands on learning and some long ass hours at the hospital…poor Mark :).


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N:** Okay, perhaps I lied and the real, gah angst is coming next. Now I just hurt Roger a bit (sorry!), but it just worked for me and I hope my readers agree :).

* * *

Another couple of months went by, Roger and Mimi settled into their new roles, and Mark briefly considered moving so that the two of them could have their own space. However, he quickly realized that he was spending most of his time at the hospital so most of time Roger and Mimi did have their own space.

Mark was lucky if he made it home more than a couple of times a week. He was itching to film, so much so that during one trip to the loft, he'd retrieved his camera and brought it back to the hospital, spending precious break time filming whatever he could. He was in the mist of his pediatric rotation and the kids loved the camera. He quickly found it did wonders to morale when he showed a group of them how it worked. Perhaps he even inspired a future filmmaker or two.

His supervisor loved him and told him he should seriously consider pediatrics as his specialty. Mark was thrown off track by the comment. He'd never considered himself comfortable around children, but at work, it was hard not to smile back when a kid smiled at him.

But, still, not everything was happy. The day one of the patients Mark saw on rounds died unexpectedly, he was crushed to the point where considered giving up. Even ventured out to Angel's grave and sat there a while, camera in hand, contemplating his goal and if he'd lost sight of it.

It helped. But still, death was hard. And made even harder when he finally dragged himself back to hospital and by the neonatal intensive care unit.

It was torture. The newest addition was a premature girl, barely three hours old, born to a heroin addicted and HIV positive mother. Early tests indicted she gotten the virus from her mother, but that was actually the least of her problems. She weighed a mere three pounds and her lungs were underdeveloped to point that she couldn't even attempt to breathe on here own. Her outlook was grim.

He couldn't help thinking about Roger and Mimi as he looked at her, so small and covered in tubes and wires. Mimi was clean, he told himself. If Mimi and Roger ever had a child, she wouldn't end up like this. But there was guarantee. And it was only a matter of time before both Roger and Mimi would meet a similar fate – small and weak, barely holding on.

Dying. Just like Angel. Just like Collins could be in another six months.

No, he thought. New drugs were being developed and lives were extended.

Still, looking at that little girl, it was hard to remember any of the positives and easy to focus on every single negative. Drugs, HIV, AIDS, it all ended very, very badly.

Reality sucked. He knew that, realized that as he trudged up the stairs towards the loft that evening. Didn't stop it from happening eventually though.

"Mark! Thank God you're home!"

Or from happening right now.

Mimi was standing just outside the door, shouting down the stairs. Even from a distance, there was no mistaking the fear written all over her face. Mark immediately began taking two stairs at time, reaching the top faster than he thought possible.

"It's Roger," she told him. "He's been throwing up since yesterday and he's in a lot of pain. He refused to go to the clinic. He's being an stupid asshole, but I'm," she passed a moment, swallowing, "I'm afraid he's really, really sick. He hasn't moved from the couch in an hour."

Sure enough, when Mark entered, Roger was curled up in the fetal position on the threadbare couch. His eyes were closed, but the pain he was in was plain as day.

Crap. Mark had a feeling of dread hit him. "Roger?" He reached the couch, touching the back of his hand to his friend's forehead. Warm, but not too bad. Of course.

Eyes opened. "Mimi's overreacting" were the first words out of his mouth, but they were immediately contradicted by a spasm of pain that had Roger curling tighter into himself. "Oh shit," he muttered.

"Yeah, she's overreacting," Mark mumbled. A million things ran through his head. He was only a third year student and Roger definitely needed medical attention. Mimi was right – Roger was a stupid asshole whose stubborn streak was the longest Mark had ever seen.

"You should have gone to the clinic, Roger."

"I hate the clinic," Roger replied. "Figured if it got worse, you'd come home."

"And do what, Roger? I'm not a doctor, yet, but both you and Collins seem to forget that little fact." Collins hated the medical profession as much as Roger did. Ever since his close call and AIDS diagnosis, he'd turned to Mark long before seeking any other form of treatment. Mark was somewhat flattered, but he hoped such a choice wouldn't hurt him in the long run. Trust Roger to take those odds.

"What hurts?" Something hurt, most likely Roger's stomach from the way he was positioned, but Mark wasn't taking any chances. With Roger's fragile immune system anything could happen.

"Gut," Roger mumbled and Mark pried Roger's hands away, running through every single fact he'd ever learned about stomach pain in the last three years. It didn't help and Roger drew in a breath the second Mark's hand made contact with his stomach.

Fuck. He glimpsed over his shoulder. "Mimi?"

Mimi was hovering a few feet away, lips pursed. She nodded.

"There's a package in my room. It has a return address from Scarsdale. Can you get it?"

Mimi was heading towards his room before he even finished his sentence.

"You're a stubborn, stupid asshole, Roger." Mark starting gently pushing down into Roger's stomach. "Tell me where it hurts before I drag your ass to the ER."

Roger winced particularly when Mark headed towards the right side of his abdomen. "Fuck, there." He twisted away from Mark's touch. "There."

Mark closed his eyes a second. One possible diagnosis hit him and it had nothing to do with HIV. It was complicated by HIV, was still extremely life threatening, but was treatable. But he couldn't diagnosis on a hunch.

"Here." Mimi plopped the box he'd asked for on the floor next to the couch and Mark reached in and looped the stethoscope on top around his neck before digging deeper. His father was trying again, sending several medical items in the mail. Mark had come last week to the package on his bed and had wondered just what his father expected to achieve with it, if he expected to achieve anything at all. But it was a moot point now; at least Mark could put the items to good use.

"Open," he told Roger, shaking down a thermometer.

"What the hell—" Roger started, but Mark took that opportunity to stick the thermometer in Roger's mouth. A moment later he wrapped a blood pressure cuff around Roger's arm and hooked the earpieces of the stethoscope into his ear. Roger, for his part was silent, but Mimi looked both somewhat surprised and concerned.

Double crap. BP was lower then it should be and Roger was running a low-grade fever.

"You're going to hospital."

"Why? Can't you fix it?"

Mark put everything back into the box it came in. "Did you not understand the first time I said I'm not actually a doctor yet, Roger? And even if I was, you need to be treated. At a hospital."

"What's wrong?" Mimi asked, visibly nervous. "Is it bad?"

It certainly could be, he thought, but kept that sentence in his head. "It might mean surgery, but honestly, I'm not sure. I have cab fare, so better safe than sorry."

Getting Roger downstairs proved quite a task and twice Mark stopped, telling Roger he was calling 911. Roger refused, saying he'd sent them away. Roger prevailed and a cab was found. Mark wanted to go the nearest hospital, but Roger insisted they go to where Mark worked.

"I have no insurance anyway, and I figure wherever they put you has to be good, right?" he'd weakly joked.

It won't matter if you're dead, Mark thought. It wouldn't come down to that, he tried to convince himself. Roger was in pain, but lucid. Fever was low. An IV could do wonders and they could back at the loft in a few hours.

No such luck. The wait was long, Mark bullied to get Roger triaged, and the ER doctor didn't like any of Mark's input. Roger's pain was increasing, he was vomiting again, and his fever was up. Mimi was extremely worried, rubbing Roger's back and the ER doc was telling Mark there was no infection.

"No leukocytosis," the doctor stated, filling through Roger's chart. "We'll run more tests."

"There's no leukocytosis because he's HIV positive," Mark countered. "I may only be a third-year, but they shoved that fact down my throat a while back. There's rebound pain."

"Which can mean a million and one things, Mr. Cohen." The doctor was sure to emphasize the word "Mr." Mark felt like punching a wall. Did he really work here, only three floors up? "The pain is not completely specific to the right side and a sonogram showed us nothing. We'll run more tests."

Right. Why again did he go to medical school when his opinion meant absolutely nothing? He sighed and gave Roger a tight smile. "I'm going to make a phone call."

He wasn't sure he was right, but he just wanted someone to listen. And if he was right, they were wasting time. He searched his pockets for a quarter and dropped in into the slot before picking up the phone and dialing.

It went to Andy's machine. Fuck. That left only one other option if he wanted another professional ear. He picked the phone up again, dropped in another couple of quarters to cover the toll call, and dialed.

Four rings passed before someone picked up.

"Hello?"

"I'm sorry to be calling so late, but I need another opinion."

There was silence on the other end of the phone for a moment. "Mark?"

"Yeah, Dad, it's me."

"It's almost eleven, Mark. Where are you? Working?"

Mark sighed. "I'm at the hospital, but no, I'm not on call. Like I said, I need another opinion. A professional one." He hated this conversation already, but he had this feeling that if he didn't do something, it wouldn't be good for Roger. Sure, HIV meant Roger didn't have forever, but his time wouldn't be cut short because he spent too long waiting for a proper diagnosis.

"Okay."

Mark outlined the issue. He thought it was appendicitis, even thought Roger could be close to perforating, but since not all the signs were there, the doctor was dismissing it and hadn't even followed though on a surgical consult. Roger's white blood cell count wasn't up and that didn't help at all.

"Sonogram showed nothing," Mark finished. "Am I wrong? Is it something else?"

Again, the other side of the line was quiet for a minute. "It could be. Listen, Mark, I need to check something. Call me back in ten minutes."

Before Mark could even ask why, the line was dead. Abrupt, as always, and left Mark wondering if that phone call had done a damn thing. He wasn't calling back, he decided, as he walked back towards Roger. Even his father had admitted it could be something else, so maybe he was overreacting. Maybe Roger would be fine.

Roger wasn't fine. Roger was worse. After another fuss and another twenty minutes, the doctor finally came back, saying that they were still waiting on test results. That's when another man, older and dressed in blue scrubs, stepped in and read the chart over his shoulder.

"Dr. Pace?" the scrubbed man asked. "No surgical consult?"

Dr. Pace reddened. "Um, I was just getting to that."

"Over the past six hours, his vitals haven't improved with antibiotics and fluids," the man continued, "and the tests are still inconclusive. I need to get in there and take a look."

Mark wanted to hug the man.

"Right," Dr. Pace agreed, handing over the chart. The man smiled and took over, introducing himself to Mimi as Dr. Ritter. Within ten minutes, an OR was booked and Mimi was signing Roger's life away, it seemed.

Mimi walked with the gurney out into the hall, but Mark followed, Dr. Ritter stopped him.

"You must be Mark."

Mark blinked. "Um, I am. But I don't think I told you my name."

"You didn't," Ritter confirmed. "But you're Andrew Cohen's son."

Suddenly he realized why his father had hung up on him so quickly. "You know him?"

"We went to school together a million years ago. Have you done your surgical rotation yet?"

"I start next week. Why?"

Ritter just shook his head. "Good. How would you like a sneak preview?"

"Um…" Mark's mouth went dry. This was Roger, this was…

Yet at the same time, it meant his father had listened and maybe even believed in him. Roger could just very well be okay after all and he may have helped that along. There were too many things to consider here. "He's my…"

"Friend?" Ritter finished. "I know, it's hard. But I'm sure his wife would feel better if you were there." He paused and studied Mark a moment. "Your father speaks very highly of you. Though the last I had heard, you filmed."

Filmed? When the hell had his father even admitted Mark ever filmed? Or, more accurately, when had he admitted it without disdain in his voice?

"So?"

Ritter was waiting for his answer and Mark pushed his father out of his brain and concentrated on finding his voice. He wondered if he'd even be able to make it through without passing out.

It was Roger. Roger was his best friend and he needed to make sure he would be okay.

He nodded and followed Ritter down the hall.

* * *

Roger's hospital room overflowed with get well soon cards. Maureen hadn't been able to choose just one card and bought dozens instead, each one cutesier than the previous. Roger insisted she was just trying to annoy him. Mark wouldn't be surprised if that were the case.

Roger was recovering nicely. Surgery had been just what Roger needed and not a moment too soon, either. His appendix had burst and Roger had spent three scary days in the ICU during which neither Mimi nor Mark slept a wink. But Roger held on, much like Collins had during his last hospital stay. Roger told them he wasn't going anywhere soon and Mark sure as hell hoped it stayed that way.

"That will work as long as you're not a stupid asshole about being sick," Mimi pointed out.

"I don't need to be anymore. I have Mark," Roger pointed out.

"Who is still not a doctor," Mark reminded him yet again. He shifted his camera, focusing on Mimi, who was perched to right of Roger, on the very edge of his hospital bed. He figured he could swing another twenty minutes and still finish rounds before he needed to report in.

"Yet you still knew more than the idiot down in the emergency room I heard," Collins commented. "So I'll take you, Mark, over anyone else with a full-fledged MD any time."

"Oh yeah," Roger agreed. "So, Tom, you bring me anything?"

"I come all the way out here and that's what you ask me, Roger? I would have thought being at death's door would have you be more appreciative of the things you already have."

Roger looped an IV'd hand around Mimi's waist. "Trust me, I know I'm lucky."

"Very lucky," Joanne said, entering the room bearing flowers. Behind here was Maureen, showcasing three more Hallmark envelopes in her hand and a wicked grin on her face.

"Not more cards," Roger groaned.

"This time they're all pink," Maureen said cheerfully, dumping them onto Roger's lap. "One of them has an adorable little fuzzy pink bear inside." Mimi started giggling.

"You know I hate you, Maureen."

"Love you too, Roger," she shot back, giving him another wide grin before looking Mark's way and posing in front of the camera. "You should get my gift on film, Mark."

Roger shoved the cards away. "Don't waste the film."

Maureen gave a mock pout in Joanne's direction. Joanne just shook her head.

"No appreciation," Maureen sighed dramatically. "By the way, Mark, great white coat you got there. You should get that on film."

"Now that would be a waste of film, Maureen," he told her. Despite what Collins had hinted about focusing his footage on, he was still reluctant to let himself be filmed, especially by friends.

But Maureen never took no for an answer. The camera was yanked away again and aimed directly at him. "Look at Mark, all professional. Say hi Mark."

"Maureen, please." He couldn't help blushing. Even though he'd gotten used to the coat, the idea even, seeing the footage later would still take some getting used to. He reached out for the camera and caught a glimpse of his watch. "Shit, I have rounds."

"Ooo, rounds," Maureen said, inching away from him. "Now that definitely needs to go on film."

"No, it doesn't. Now, come on Maureen. Shut it off."

From the bed, he saw Mimi and Maureen grinning and he was sure in the corner, Collins and Joanne were amused as well. Mark needed to find a way to stop being entertainment.

But for now, he had to work. Roger was doing well and he expected to be able to move to his next rotation in a week, he needed to get his ass moving and up to pediatrics.

Unfortunately, it was with Maureen on his heels as he nervously hoped she didn't drop his camera. Maureen never backed down.

* * *

Maureen had followed him for almost an hour that day before she got bored and moved on. The footage was interesting, to say the least, and as he viewed on another rare day off, he realized that at some point he'd forgotten she was there and just done his job.

It was certainly a profound observation and odd because he wasn't used to observing himself. Not ever. Yet here he was, watching himself with a detached curiosity.

Strange. There was no other way to describe it. And if he coupled it with the footage he had of his father, it was almost eerie.

Mark stopped watching at that point.

He went back to work, instead, starting his surgical rotation and fighting more nausea than ever. He'd almost passed out during Roger's appendectomy, how the hell would he make it through this?

He was, slowly, and he spent many long nights at the hospital, observing and observing procedure after procedure. On the plus side, however, he got more nights off and spent a little more time filming, even interviewing colleagues and shooting random other footage. That's when he bumped into Kara and through a few questions found out her boyfriend was no more. He had to make sure Roger never saw that little snippet of film or he'd never hear the end of it.

Still Kara aside, Mark was excited about said footage and was ready to tell Collins all about it. He was meeting the man for dinner and he was running a bit late.

So late that he was definitely surprised when he got there first. That surprise turned into worry when another half hour passed and Collins didn't show.

Worry turned into fear and Mark found a pay phone. Rummaging for quarters, he found enough change to call both Collins' apartment and the loft. There was no answer at the loft and a busy signal at Collins' number and Mark, now fighting a feeling a dread in his stomach, jumped on his bike and peddled as fast as he could towards Collins' place.

Collins lived in a tiny studio on the edge of Soho and when he got there, he locked his bike and rummaged through his bag, remembering Collins had recently given him a key - just in case, he had said. Mark had thought it a luxury since it meant Collins didn't need to drop it off a fire escape every time Mark dropped by, something they were still doing at the loft. Even when keys were given out, they kept getting lost, so it seemed pointless to keep making copies.

He found the key and climbed up for flights. A knock yielded no response, so he used the key and opened the door.

That's when he met one of his worst fears. Collins lay in a heap on his bed and the phone was knocked ever so slightly off the hook.

* * *

**A/N:** Took some dramatic liberty in the ER for plot (mainly with the ER doc and such), so I am noting that :). But on the medical fact and research end, HIV positive patients that suffer from appendicitis often do not have an elevated white blood cell count (leukocytosis), which can be a key disgnostic tool and often delays findings (and even can lead to a burst appendix and complications, which I picked...oh, poor Roger...).


	13. Chapter 13

**Warning:** Character Death

**A/N: **I teared up writing this, and I hope I did it justice (and it's extra long!). I apologize in advance, but this is what I had planned all along. Reviews, as always, are treasured.

* * *

Mark did everything right. He made sure Collins was breathing and he called 911. He watched helplessly through the trauma room doors as Collins was treated before a nurse led him away to the waiting room. He sat for a good ten minutes just staring at the floor before he realized he should call someone. Let them know.

There was still no answer at the loft. He called Maureen and Joanne's expecting nothing, but was surprised when Maureen actually picked up.

"Maureen, I…" The words were in his brain, but they refused to come out.

"Mark? Mark, where are you?"

"Hospital. Collins is here."

It took some more pushing on Maureen's part but he finally gave her enough information so she could actually come down and find him. The phone call ended and Mark listened to the dial tone for a few seconds before hanging up the receiver. He shoved his hands in his pockets and sat back down. He was trembling slightly, he noticed, and he hadn't a clue why. He'd remained professional when he'd brought Roger to hospital so there was no reason this situation should be any different.

But Roger's problem hadn't been AIDS related, and he was almost positive Collins' was. Collins had gone to the clinic last week, but for the life of him, Mark couldn't remember what his T-cell count had been. Low, probably. Definitely low, considering the fever he'd been running in the ambulance. Collins was also struggling to breathe and just before Mark had been pulled away from the trauma room, he'd heard talk of intubation.

And worse of all, there was no mistaking the lesions on Collins' right arm.

No. Mark swallowed, than took a breath and tried to remain calm. He knew he was on the verge of a panic attack and he couldn't let it happen. He hadn't had a panic attack since he was eighteen. He was better now, more in control. No panicking, just keep staring at the ground. It would all get better. It had to.

A pair of feet came into view and someone placed something warm in his hands. He looked up, half expecting Maureen, but was met by a nurse instead.

"I thought you could use something warm," she said.

He gripped the cup and was glad to have something to hold on to. It hid the trembling a bit. "Thank you."

She gave him a small smile. "No problem. Surprisingly, it's a little slow around here."

He looked around the waiting room. She was right, it actually wasn't too crowded and most people waiting appeared to have fairly minor injuries.

"Yeah," he echoed. He hoped Maureen got here soon. Coffee, or no coffee, it still took well-practiced effort to hold himself together in front of a perfect stranger. "My friend, I'm waiting…"

"I know. I looked in and someone should be out in a minute."

"Please just tell me he was stable," he muttered, and met her eyes. She was young, very young, in fact. She couldn't have been a nurse for long. Hell, she could even still be in training.

He just silently pleaded. Please. Anything.

"I'm not supposed to…I'm sorry," she answered.

He sighed. "I know. I don't want to get you in trouble."

"Mark!"

Never had he been so happy to hear Maureen's voice and turned towards it.

"How is he?" Maureen stopped just to the right of him, a hand immediately resting on his shoulder.

"He's—" Mark started, but the nurse interrupted.

"He's stable," she said. "The doctor'll be out in a minute, I'm sure. Good luck, Mark." She stepped away and he wondered how she had known his name, but then he remembered Maureen had just announced it to the entire waiting room.

"She's pretty," Maureen noted as she sat down in the chair next to him.

"Maureen." He gripped his cup again. Maureen was notorious for changing the subject when it came down to serious matters. And Collins was most definitely a serious matter.

"She said he was stable," Maureen pointed out. "That's good, right?" She started to bite her lower lip.

"For now, yes." He sighed. "There was no answer at the loft. I tried twice, left a message."

Maureen started to rub his back. "Oh, baby, Roger and Mimi will get it I'm sure."

Mark wasn't worried about them getting it. For the first time ever, he was worried about them getting it in time.

This was the beginning of the end and he could just feel it. Collins had been upbeat lately, yes, but if Mark took another look, he saw the fact that Collins hadn't bothered to renew his lease and had started spending more money than he ever had before.

A raise, he'd told them after he brought a hundred dollar bottle of wine to the loft last week. He'd looked tired, Mark had remembered, but that fact had been lost in laughter and plastic cups filled with expensive alcohol. Roger had been unimpressed by it and everyone else had to agree. Twenty dollars could have produced the same effect.

This couldn't be happening. Not yet. He still had just over a year left. What good was his plan if his friends started dying before Mark could even put it to good use?

Another white coat approached him. Maureen looped her hand in his and squeezed. The doctor wasn't frowning, but he wasn't smiling either.

"He's stable."

While the nurse had already shared this piece of information, hearing it confirmed lifted a weight off his chest. Maybe this wasn't it. There was still time. Lots of time.

"Did you have to intubate?" he asked, surprised at how calm and detached he sounded. His eyes stared just to the right of the doctor, towards the wall.

"No," the doctor said. "It wasn't necessary and Mr. Collins expressed an interest in signing a DNR. A DNR is—"

"I know what a DNR is," Mark cut in.

"Not all of us are third year medical students, Mark, and I have no clue what a DNR is." Maureen's voice came out of nowhere and Mark realized she was just as scared as he was and he wasn't helping.

"Do not resituate," the doctor explained. "Mr. Collins has what I believe to be bacterial pneumonia. A very severe case that struck very quickly, most likely due to his compromised immune system. He's also showing signs of Kaposi's sarcoma, but we'll need further tests to determine that."

The lesions. Just like Angel. Not life threatening, but not really curable. Could spread to the lungs, if they hadn't already. Fuck. Mark wanted to hit his head against a wall.

Maureen was chewing her lip big time now and the doctor was explaining what Kaposi's sarcoma was. Frankly, Mark was more concerned about the pneumonia, but only tests would reveal the full extent of Collins' problems.

Two days later, the full extent was not good. Collins had bacterial pneumonia, all right, and the antibiotics weren't working. Any other issues paled in comparison to that one. Collins was hanging on, still breathing on his own and that gave Mark hope.

They set up schedules. Mimi and Roger sat with Collins during the day, while Joanne and Mark took nights. Maureen floated between the two, baking cakes and bringing cards. But everyone knew this wasn't like Roger and his appendix. Get well soon wishes fell short when Collins wasn't getting any better.

"His body's too weak," the doctor said. Mark listened with a blank face to the news. Mimi gripped Roger's hand and Maureen bit down so hard on her lip that it started to bleed. Joanne put a hand on Mark's shoulder.

"Does he have family?" the doctor asked. "They should be called."

Collins' parents had died just before he moved to New York, Mark knew, and the man was not forthcoming with any other information. He, like Roger, had said all his family was right there.

So instead Mark called Benny and calmly told him if he wanted to see Collins he better come now.

Benny did come, and he and Roger exchanged a glance the moment he arrived. No words were said and Benny disappeared into Collins' room and stayed for over an hour. What they talked about remained a mystery, but when he emerged, Benny could only mutter a quiet "thank you" to Mark and offer a handshake to Roger and a hug to both Mimi and Maureen.

Over the new few days, each one of them took some time to spend with Collins one on one. When Mark got his chance, he had to admit he was scared. Scared of what the next few days would bring, but maybe even more scared of what his friend just might say.

Collins looked terrible. An oxygen mask covered his face and when Mark entered, he pulled it aside. Mark immediately opened his mouth to comment that Collins needed it, but Collins just shook his head and Mark let it be.

"Mark, I had a talk with Joanne yesterday." He took a breath, coughed a little. "Had her settle some things."

Mark could only blink. He knew exactly why Collins would need Joanne's expertise. It was happening. Not this very second, but soon. Too soon.

"I want to you to have medical power of attorney."

He swallowed. Such a request was a burden he wasn't sure he wanted. "You sure you want to do that?"

"You know what I want, Mark," Collins said, breathless by the end of his sentence.

Mark nodded. The DNR. Collins had signed it that morning, right in front of him and Joanne, but away from the prying eyes of everyone else. Mark had hoped it may never come down to that – not during this hospital stay, at least – but he knew better. Bacterial pneumonia had such strong hold on his friend that chances that Collins would win this battle were almost non-existent. He was weak, and getting weaker. This past week he'd been trying to say good-bye and Mark wasn't listening. He hadn't wanted to listen.

"You'll know better than anyone when there's no more hope. I can't hang on forever."

"Tom…" His mouth was dry. There were no more choices here. Collins knew it. Maybe even everyone else knew it. Modern medicine couldn't help anymore. His plan was backfiring. "You're still here, though. Means something. There are new medications and they might-"

Collins just shook his head. "Might what? Help? I tried it your way, Mark, and you've done amazing things, but it's not helping anymore. My T-Cell count been in the gutter for the past two months and Angel's out there and if you remember, she hates waiting." He gave Mark a small smile. "It took a while, but I think I've finally made my peace. Can you make yours, Mark?"

Collins, ever wise, had asked him the one question he'd been unable to ask himself. He didn't know what to say.

"You'll be all right," Collins told him. "You'll finish school, finish the documentary you've been trying to shoot for the last three years."

Mark shook his head. "I don't like my focus."

"Why?" Collins asked. "Because it's you?" He coughed, long and hard. Mark got up and poured him a glass of water from the bedside pitcher. Collins took it, the water sloshing slightly as he guided it to his mouth. A few moments of silence passed until Collins handed the cup back. Mark put it aside.

"You're pretty damn interesting, Mark." Collin's voice was raspy now, and Mark could here the wheezing in his lungs easily. He hated this. Collins was a good person, just like Angel had been a good person. Bad things shouldn't happen to good people.

But they did. And even good people made a bad choice here and there. Collins hadn't done drugs like Roger or Mimi, but he'd been careless and admitted it. Didn't think once and dealt with consequences.

"If I had to do it over," Collins paused to catch his breath, "I wouldn't change a damn thing. Just so you know."

"I know." Consequences sucked but Mark couldn't picture it any other way. Collins had been positive since the day he met him and he had always taken it in stride. Collins never seemed sick. It had been easy to forget he had HIV then.

Good-byes were never ever easy. He blinked, trying not cry. Collins was still breathing, living. There was nothing to mourn.

"I still meant it when I thought you should get some." Collins was smiling now and Mark wondered how the hell he could be smiling. How he could change the subject and talk about Mark's sex life.

He was dying. Fucking dying.

"I have no time." Damn it, he wasn't any better. "Sex takes time."

"That all depends on who you do it with. Make time," Collins insisted. He coughed again, gasped and Mark's hand was on the call button, pushing it down before Collins could even protest.

"Why did you do that?" Collins was panting, the struggle causing the veins in his neck to stand out sharply. It was sapping his energy and Mark could help dwelling on how long his friend would hold out.

"You need help," Mark stated. He picked up the discarded oxygen mask and placed it back over Collins' face.

"I got help," Collins answered, voice low. For a few seconds, the only sound that followed was the sound of Collins' raged breathing.

"I'll miss you, Mark."

The door opened and a nurse entered. Mark stepped away from the bed, watched her take vitals, saw her frown. Knew she would go get the doctor.

He wasn't sure what to say to his friend. Not now, not ever.

His voice was so soft when he finally spoke that later on, Mark would have a hard time recalling if he had even spoke at all.

"I'll miss you, too."

Moments later, the doctor was there and Mark was pushed out.

* * *

Mark got the call about Collins a few hours later. He'd left the hospital briefly, heading to the loft to grab a change of clothes for himself, Roger, and Mimi when the phone rang. The machine picked up as usual and the second he heard Roger's voice he ran out, grabbed his bike, and pedaled.

But Collins was gone before he even got there. It took Mark ten minutes to summon up enough courage to take one last look at his friend. When he did, he couldn't help thinking he looked happy. At rest.

He called the loft. He called Joanne at her office, tracked Maureen down, and even left a message for Benny in Westport. He signed forms, sat and waited for someone else to come and share their grief. Mimi cried openly. Roger comforted her, and he shed a tear or two. Maureen and Joanne held each other.

He just sat, thinking about how other one of his friends had slipped away right in front of his eyes. And even with more medical knowledge behind him, Mark couldn't prevent it from happening.

It sucked.

"Mark, you okay?" Joanne's voice was concerned. There were tear tracks on her face.

He gave her a small smile. "We knew it was going to happen. Only a matter of time." He pushed himself out his chair. "I need to take a walk."

Joanne frowned and took a step to follow him, but out of the corner of his eyes he saw Maureen put out a hand to stop her and Roger shake his head.

"Let him go, pookie."

He didn't cry. Instead he wandered the halls, up and down, for what felt like hours, but he knew were only minutes. He returned and starting taking care of what had to be done. Joanne stepped in to give him a hand. Collins had thought ahead. This time there was money for a funeral and money to be buried next to Angel.

The funeral was on a rainy Tuesday. Mark could hear the drops pelt the roof of the church as he watched each of his friend get up and say something about Collins. He knew he got up, but he wasn't sure what he said. Maureen choked on her words, much like she had with Angel.

When Angel had died, he'd found himself wondering if there was an afterlife. The Jewish faith believed in one, yes, but Mark could hardly consider himself religious anymore. Still wherever Collins and Angel were now, he hoped they were together.

There was a little money left over after the funeral and Collins had stated it wasn't to be used to mourn. He said they should all go out and get drunk on him and Angel. Remember the good times, because there were plenty of them.

Mark went out, but he was the only one that didn't get drunk. He had surgery to observe in the morning if he hoped to pass this year. But he laughed as Maureen stood on a table at the Life and gave her own tribute to Collins, and when prompted later that night at loft, dug up all his recent footage of the teacher.

The smile faded, though, after Maureen and Joanne left and Roger and Mimi headed to bed. Then he could only sit and watch the last scene of Collins he had over and over again. Collins was grinning, telling Mark and the camera he needed to get out more.

Mark didn't get much sleep that night.

The next morning he headed out towards work. At the last second, he grabbed his camera and put in his bag, not really knowing why. He stepped foot in the hospital, but he knew he was just going through the motions. He followed instructions, listened to residents point this and that out, but in the end didn't care. Another life saved, maybe, but it wasn't the one he had hoped for.

Finally done, he changed out of his scrubs, grabbed his messenger bag and glanced down at the camera sticking out of it. He could film, he supposed, but even then, he knew his heart wouldn't be in it. He missed Collins more than ever and sighing, he knew for the first time since it had happened, it showed. He couldn't go back to the loft. Not now.

He stepped forward, not paying attention and almost collided with another person.

"I'm sorry," he started, but the person interrupted.

"Mark?"

He finally took a look at the person he'd almost hit head on. Or woman, he should say. He recognized her brown hair and eyes almost immediately.

"Kara." He tried to smile, but was afraid he failed miserably. Small talk would be hard, but he could manage. He'd done it before. He was fine. "How's Pete?"

"He was an asshole last time I checked," she responded. "I thought I had told you we'd broken up the last time I saw you."

Right. She had. "I'm sorry, I forgot. You're better off without him."

"You're right. I am." She frowned. "Something's wrong."

"Nothing's—"

"Bullshit," she interrupted. Kara was a no nonsense woman. In study group, she got straight to the point and got things done.

Yet, he must be slipping if she'd been able to pick up on his emotional state. He sighed.

"A friend of mine…" He couldn't finish the sentence as if admitting it to someone outside his circle of friends would make it seem more real. It was real, of course, but to Kara, Collins was nothing more than a stranger. She wouldn't understand.

Her eyes changed and a look of understanding and sympathy entered them. "Oh, Mark, I'm sorry. When did it happen?"

"Five days ago."

She was silent and Mark could tell she was trying to come up with something to say and he wasn't sure he was any help. It was awkward, plain and simple. Mark was used to awkward, though, so it was nothing new. Grief felt awkward when it should be anything but.

What she finally said surprised him. "Sounds like you could use a drink."

He could use several, he thought. They'd all had their toast to Collins the night before, but Mark hadn't been able to get as drunk as Maureen and Mimi had. Or even as tipsy as Roger and Joanne had. He had to be here, bright and early, and Collins had told him to finish.

Angel had been his first inspiration, so he figured Angel would find a way to kick his ass if he hadn't listened to her boyfriend.

Of course, Collins had said more than just that.

"I know a place around the corner," Kara continued. "You know, if you want to talk. I mean, I understand if you wouldn't, but you let me rant about Pete that one time after the library and I figured…" She trailed off, letting another moment of silence settle between him.

Mark wasn't sure how he'd explain it later, but he could have sworn something pushed him gently.

"I could definitely use a drink."

Drinks led to more conversation, and a million and one toasts to Collins. Mark babbled, he was sure. He was and always had been something of a lightweight and was far more talkative and open when his guard was down. It was the reason he never let his guard down often. He'd only let it happen a few times here and there, most of them with Collins, Roger, or Maureen.

In fact, he would realize later, it was during a drunken conversation that Collins had revealed just how he'd gotten HIV in the first place, during a stupid night at college where he thought he was invincible.

But now, Collins was dead and before he could blink, it seemed both he and Kara were giggling and staggering up the stairs towards her apartment. It was a miracle they reached the top without falling. It was then, as Kara fumbled for her keys, Mark did something he'd never have had the courage to do if he were sober.

He stopped her hand from turning the lock and gently pushed her against the door, kissing her like he hadn't kissed anyone in years. Of course, he hadn't really, if he were honest. And Collins had said he needed to get laid.

Kara tasted like strawberries and mint and he'd forgotten how good human contact from the opposite sex was. As if on automatic pilot, his hand slid up her thigh.

She wasn't stopping him. If anything she was egging him on. They might both hate themselves in the daylight, but for now it all felt so damn good that Mark didn't give a shit what happened.

Kara's key dropped to the ground and it startled them. Out of breath, they broke apart and stared at each other.

"Inside," he said and she nodded. The key were picked up, the door opened and closed. Kara made her way to the bed, sitting down in the middle of it and studying him a second before pulling off her shirt and letting her hair down. Mark didn't waste any time, lips on hers again and hands making their way to the clasp of her bra.

"I don't do this normally," she mumbled.

"Me either," he confessed. But after it was over, he could revel in how wonderful it was. For a moment, he could forget about what had happened over the past couple of days, forget life, death, work and film and stress.

And even if he kicked himself later, it didn't matter.

* * *

**A/N:** If you made if this far, you don't hate me :).

**Medical notes:** Little more liberty taken, but Kaposi's sarcoma, or KS, is a type of cancer and was one of the first diseases seen in people with AIDS and remains one of the most common cancers in HIV-positive people. Symptoms included lesions that range in color from pinkish-red and brownish-blue. The lesions on the skin aren't life threatening, but they can be painful, but if they occur in the lungs, they can cause severe breathing problems and even be fatal if not treated.

Bacterial pneumonia is just as it sounds and can get to be extremely serious and life-threatening(as seen here). HIV-positive adults are almost 8 times more likely to develop it than those that are HIV negative. And as odd as it sounds, pneumonia in general is the sixth leading cause of death in the US today.

In NY, "A do-not-resuscitate (DNR) order tells medical professionals not to perform CPR. This means that doctors, nurses and emergency medical personnel will not attempt emergency CPR if the patient's breathing or heartbeat stops."


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N:** Sorry this took so long, but I moved apartments and moves are never fun. But I'm finally and hopefully settled and am giving you a longish chapter to make up for it. Warning, I suppose I tackle some clichés here, but I'm hoping to put new spins on things, so I do hope you enjoy. Briefness of Mark/OC, but it really ain't all it's cracked up to be, since I like Mark alone (oh the angst, lol).

Thoughts/feedback always appreciated and loved.

* * *

He awoke to water running and the sound of movement.

"You're up." The water was turned off and he turned his eyes to see Kara come out of the bathroom, brushing out her wet hair. "I have to do rounds and report in by ten."

"Ten?" His hands reached towards the bedside table, hoping he'd find his glasses there. Paydirt. "What time is it?"

Kara sat down on the edge of the bed, still brushing her hair. "Nine fifteen, I think. Do you have to go in today?"

He should his head. "No. Day off."

"Lucky."

He pushed himself up. "Yeah."

"So, want to tell me more about that camera sticking out of your bag? It's world famous in pediatrics, I hear. The kids and the nurses there love you."

Mark could feel himself blush, though he wasn't quite sure why. Kara laughed. "You're cute when you blush."

"Um…okay. Thanks?"

She laughed again. "Were you a cameraman in another life?"

"No. I'm a filmmaker in this life. I even made a documentary."

"Really?" Kara put down her brush and faced him. "About what?"

"My friends."

"Oh. Like Collins, right? Do all your friends have…?"

"HIV?" he finished. "No. Just the vast majority of them." He saw her look panicked for a minute. "But not me, so don't worry. Though you should know better. We used a condom."

She sighed. "I know. That was a horrible reaction. I should know better. But I worry. I mean, last night…well, I wasn't lying when I saw this wasn't my style. I've never had or even thought about having a one-night stand before, especially not with someone I actually respect."

"One night stand?" he asked. "Is that what this is?"

She was quiet a moment. "I can't commit. I don't even think I could date. Pete, he well…it was…"

"Messy?"

"Yeah," she said softly. "But I suppose every break-up is right? He wanted to get married now. I wanted to think about my career. We said a lot of things."

"Things you didn't mean, right?"

She shook her head. "No, I meant them. Every single one. They weren't nice, but they were true. I'm eternally a bitch because of it, I'm sure. You're a nice guy, Mark, and you were hurting and I thought…"

Mark closed his eyes and swallowed, trying to block out the pity in her voice. He hated pity, even if he needed it. Maureen gave him pity and he should have known better, but he hung on.

"I'm sorry," Kara continued. "I didn't mean to lead you on."

This time it was Mark's turn to shake his head. Pity or no pity, he knew deep down he had been using Kara as much as she had been using him. "You didn't. I needed this. I have too much else to worry about."

"Your friends?" she asked.

"Yeah." Mark had a plan and love didn't really have a part of it. Besides, he'd been hurt before. Better off to avoid a relationship. Then you could avoid getting hurt and still have some great sex.

Kara gave him a smile before glancing back down at her watch. "Crap. I need to get going or I'll be late. Take your time. There's towels in the closet, coffee in the kitchen, and the door will lock behind you, so don't worry." She pushed herself up, slipping on shoes and grabbing her bags.

"Thanks," he said. "Kara?"

She stopped just short of the door. "Yes?"

"Friends, right?"

She truly smiled now. "Of course."

* * *

He shouldn't have been surprised to see Roger looking through the newspaper when he got back to the loft, but he was.

"Someone didn't come home last night."

"So?" Mark immediately headed for the coffee pot, eyes brightening when he saw that Roger had actually made a whole pot. "You bought a newspaper."

Said newspaper was lowered and laid down on the table. "So?"

"You don't read the newspaper."

"You don't stay out all night unless you got lucky…crap, you got lucky, didn't you?"

Mark dug through the cabinet for a clean mug. "Maybe." Bingo. Clean mug.

Roger grinned. "About fucking time. Who was she?"

"That is between me and her."

"It's that Kara, isn't it?" Mimi's voice floated in from the blue and Mark turned to see her standing a few feet away, clad in one of Roger's old t-shirts. "I know she's single now."

"How did you…?" Mark simply shook his head. "Maybe I'm better off not knowing your sources."

Mimi gave him a sly smile. "Probably a safe bet. But I bet you feel better now."

"Feel better?" he repeated. "Sex isn't a remedy."

"Collins would argue that statement, I'm sure," Roger said. "Getting laid always helps."

"Now I think I would have to argue that point. It depends on the situation." He sat down, finally noticing what section of the paper Roger had been reading. "You're looking for an apartment?"

He tried not to sound hurt, after all he knew eventually Mimi and Roger would want their own space, but it was still something he'd hoped might not happen just yet. Especially not so recently after Collins' passing.

Or maybe it was just what he had been expecting. Collins had inspired him, perhaps he'd inspired Roger as well.

"Yeah," Roger admitted, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. "Gigs have been steady and Mimi's been picking up more shifts. Plus, the Life offers health insurance for those that work full time and I'm now covered since Mimi and I got married. We were able to save a little."

Mark had known about the insurance. It had been a rough couple of months that Roger had to ride out because his HIV was considered a pre-existing condition. But they'd made it and both Roger and Mimi remained healthy. But Collins had shown Mark that appearances could be deceiving and he only hoped Roger and Mimi still had a good amount of time left.

"Saving is good," he commented. "Though if you move, I'll have to find a new roommate. I could never afford to live here myself."

"Not even on a doctor's salary?" Roger asked.

"On a doctor's salary he could do a million times better than this, I'm sure," Mimi put in. "Right?"

He didn't answer right away. He'd be making okay money, he supposed, which meant he'd be making more than he ever had in his lifetime. He was part of the select few that had no student loans to worry about. But even if he could move on and find a nicer place than the loft, he wasn't sure he wanted to. The loft was home and he couldn't bear to leave it.

"I like the loft."

Roger raised an eyebrow. "You do? Mark, this place is a dive, even I can admit that."

"So? Where else in New York are you going to find something this size for this price?"

"In Brooklyn you could."

"Brooklyn?" Not Mark was shocked. Roger Davis, rocker extraordinaire , was considering moving to Brooklyn? What planet was he on? "You can't be serious."

But Roger didn't budge. "We can get a two bed in Brooklyn and actually afford it."

"But the commute for Mimi will suck."

Mimi chose that moment to wander way from the doorway and walk to Roger, placing her hands on his shoulders. "Um…it won't."

Mark blinked. "I am missing something here?"

Roger and Mimi exchanged a glance. "I had a talk with Collins. Before…" Roger paused briefly. "I mean, I made a complete mess of my life and if you hadn't been there to shove my ass towards rehab after April, well, I'm sure I'd have fucked myself up even more. I'm almost thirty. I need to start pulling my weight."

"But in Brooklyn?" Mark shook his head. "I'm sorry, Rog, but I can't get this Brooklyn thing out of my head. And you pull your weight now. You pay rent. So does Mimi. And if we're being honest here, before medical school or Buzzline, I did shit around here."

"There was always AZT money."

"Yeah, from Collins," Mark admitted. "He…"

"Did a whole hell of a lot for both of us," Roger finished. "Brooklyn ain't bad, you know. It's a subway ride away."

"A long subway ride away. And you never answered my question about Mimi and her job. Do you have something else lined up, Mimi?"

Mimi shifted a little. "I guess so."

"And?"

She and Roger exchanged yet another glance and that's when he knew. Knew before she even confirmed it.

"I'm pregnant."

It made perfect sense. A two bedroom apartment. Brooklyn. Enough room to settle. Mimi had tried so hard to convince herself that a baby was never meant to be. That having one, even if it wasn't positive, was selfish since neither she nor Roger had a definite future. What had her last conversation with Collins covered? Had it covered Brooklyn?

No day but today. Mimi had to go for broke in the end.

He smiled. He was happy. Really, he was. Or should be, at least. Collins might be gone, reunited with Angel, but Roger and Mimi had created new life. It was wonderful.

"Congratulations." He got up, hugged Mimi, hugged Roger, and saw how Mimi glowed. Mimi was healthy now and the chances that she'd had a healthy baby were very high. If she stayed on the AZT, was monitored closely, had a C-section, and didn't breast feed, her chances were even higher. She and Roger could have many years left, enjoying each and every one of them with their child.

"I'm scared shitless," Roger admitted a few hours later, when Mimi had gone off to work. The two of them sat on the roof, staring on towards the horizon. The paper had been forgotten and even Brooklyn remained on hold. Mark panned his camera across the neighborhood.

"I think it wouldn't be normal if you weren't." He was trying to be encouraging, but he knew nothing about parenthood, except that if it happened to him, he'd be scared shitless, too.

"We didn't plan it. Just like that first time. We were careful, but I figure if it happens twice, I might as well give it a try, right?"

"Right," Mark agreed, lowering his camera. "But you don't need to move to Brooklyn for it to work out, you know. There's plenty of room here."

"Yeah, but there's also the faulty wiring and less than desirable heat. A kid deserves both of those things, at least. Can't promise much more, but I can sure as hell try. Besides, what if things happen with Kara? You might want to move, too."

"Nah. Kara and I had a one time thing, I think. She's focused on her career right now and I'm focused on…" He wasn't sure what he was focused on, he noticed. Even after Collins tried to give him a push in the right direction, he was still confused. How could Roger now what he wanted to do before Mark did? Next thing he'd be hearing was that Maureen had found stability. Then he'd have to smack his head against a wall.

"On school," Roger continued for him. "For now. Since if you completely gave up that camera, you'd really have sold out."

Mark had to grin. "And Brooklyn isn't selling out?"

"Brooklyn?" Roger repeated. "Have you seen Brooklyn? Holy crap, Brooklyn. What am I thinking?"

"You're thinking about Mimi. About the baby. Not being a selfish asshole for once."

"Hey!"

"You're the one that said it. Before, in the loft."

"I don't think I used the words 'selfish asshole.'"

"It was what you meant. Close enough. So really, Brooklyn?"

Roger shrugged. "Collins said Angel loved Brooklyn. So who knows?"

"Yeah," Mark said, picking his camera back up and aiming it straight at the sun. "Who does?"

* * *

Roger and Mimi thought about Brooklyn. Mark tried not to. Especially one evening when he came back to an empty loft and a note that told him Roger and Mimi were checking out another place. He'd hardly finished reading the note when there was a knock at the door. He opened it, expecting Roger and Mimi, or maybe even Maureen, but found himself surprised at the person standing in front of him.

"Kara. What are you doing here?"

She shifted her weight and her eyes wouldn't meet his. Not good.

"Kara?"

She sighed, a long sighed that caused her whole body to sag. Another moment of silence passed before her gaze finally turned upwards.

"I'm pregnant."

He blinked. No. He had to have heard wrong. It was one time. One tiny little fit of passion, inspired by Collins himself. Something he had needed to move on, something he'd enjoyed. They'd taken precautions and despite the fact that both of them had been intoxicated, he could recall doing everything right.

So naturally his mind said no, but aloud he responded with a simple "what?"

"I think you heard me," Kara said softly, "and I don't really want to repeat myself."

"Shit." The word was out of his mouth before he could even try and curtail it. He regretted it almost immediately.

"Shit is right," Kara agreed. "I don't know what…" Another sigh. "Can I come in? I'd rather not have this conversation in your apartment building's hallway."

He opened the door all the way. "Right. Of course."

Kara came in, took a look around. "It's…"

"A dump," Mark finished. "I know. But it has it charm. And it now has working heat. It's cheap."

"Cheap is good. You've seen my place. It's a closet."

They were avoiding the inevitable by making small talk. Mark knew it, but made no attempt to steer the conversation back on track.

"Is your roommate…?"

"Roger's out. He and Mimi are apartment hunting."

"Oh. They're moving out?"

"Maybe." Mark didn't want to talk about that either.

Kara stepped over towards the windows and stared out one, studying the ground below. Mark moved towards her, stopping a few feet way to give her space. An awkward silence fell between the two of them.

It was Kara who spoke. Kara that got the ball truly rolling.

"I can't have it. Just so you know."

"I thought you said you hadn't decided."

"I hadn't," she admitted. "Until I stepped inside. Then I knew."

Mark wasn't sure what to say. Wasn't sure what he could say. Fact was he didn't have much input into what Kara decided to do. They weren't together. Kara was rebounding from a serious relationship and set on her career. Mark wasn't sure exactly what he was set on anymore.

"Um, are you sure?"

Kara turned from the window to face him. Mark could tell she was struggling to stay calm. "I can't have a baby. We can't have a baby. I have school and residency and debt up to my ears. Plus, I…" She stopped, and started wringing her hands. "Never mind."

"No." He grabbed her hands, suddenly needing to know what she had intended to say. "Plus, what?"

She swallowed. "I don't love you," she revealed, voice soft. "I can't have a baby with someone I don't love."

He stepped back, letting go of her hands. The statement hurt, although he wasn't sure why. He and Kara weren't a thing. In fact, they weren't anything but two casual friends that got wrapped up in emotion for a night and used each other. Yes, he could say that. They used each other because they both benefited.

Well, they had at the time. Now…now it was just hard.

A baby was supposed to be happy. Mark hadn't seen himself having kids. He'd never really tried. And after Mimi's miscarriage and his trip back to Scarsdale, he truly questioned whether he should even think about reproducing. But now he had and in a blink of an eye it would gone.

A baby didn't fit. He only supported himself because his father paid the bills. At least Roger and Mimi had jobs. Roger and Mimi loved each other. HIV notwithstanding, Roger and Mimi were having a baby and that was how it should be.

Not him. Not Mark Cohen.

Kara was making it easy. He should thank her. But he couldn't.

Instead he said, "It's okay. Why should you? I mean, we're not…"

Kara nodded, head bobbing up and down quickly. "Right."

"So…when?"

Kara began wringing her hands together again. "As soon as possible, I think. I'm going to go to the clinic tomorrow. See when they can fit me in."

"Of course. Um, let me know when you get an appointment, okay?"

Her hands fell back to her sides. "Why? You don't have to—"

"I want to," he interrupted. Actually he didn't want to. Instead, he wanted to be far, far away somewhere where he could erase every single 'what if' from his brain. But he couldn't run. Shouldn't run. Should try and deal directly with the consequences of his actions. He watched Collins sign a DNR, so he could do this. Kara shouldn't be alone, regardless or whether or not she was his girlfriend.

It was their baby.

He didn't tell a soul when that next Thursday, he found the time to sit with her in a bland waiting room, staring straight ahead as they waited for her name to be called. He even managed to squeeze her hand just before she went in, tried to be there for her despite the fact that inside he was a complete mess.

He skimmed out-dated copies of Time Magazine and buried a copy of Parenting magazine from view. The minutes ticked by, feeling like hours.

The door opened and Kara emerged, slightly teary. Mark gripped her, his arms circling her waist as if on autopilot. It was what he was supposed to do. Be strong. This was a rational decision.

"I'm sorry," Kara murmured.

"You don't need to be sorry," he told her. He pushed back his feelings, buried them deep like he always had. Be strong.

"Yes, I do," she said, pushing away from him. She wiped her face. "I really do."

He stood perfectly still for a moment. "Why do you think that?"

Kara just shook her head and walked towards the door, leaving him even more bewildered than ever.

* * *

**A/N:** No facts this time, but hopefully no one wants to kill me. Brownie points to those who think they may know what's going on…


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N:** Sorry for the delay, again folks. Easter came and I went to see family and free time disappeared a bit. For those of you that guessed what happened…well, read. I owe some brownies :).

* * *

He found Kara sitting on a bench at the bus stop outside the clinic. The tears he'd seen a moment ago were gone and she was staring straight ahead. He paused, his brain searching for something to say.

"I didn't do it."

Her words were soft, but firm. She didn't move. "I thought I could, but I guess I can't. I'm not expecting anything, so don't worry."

"Don't worry?" he asked. "Do you think I'd just leave?" He sat down next to her, his mind still dealing with the fact that Kara hadn't gone through with the abortion and that in less then eight months there would be a piece of him living and breathing somewhere.

It scared the shit out of him. But it didn't mean he was running away. No, not even he could do that.

"No," Kara said. "You wouldn't leave. That was the problem all along."

"Problem? You don't want my support?" She was sending him mixed signals and he was more confused than ever.

"No." She closed her eyes a moment, letting out a sigh. "I don't—"

"Love me," Mark finished. "So I've heard. My support doesn't mean we need to go get married or anything."

"I know," she said. "But my parents…shit! I'm a coward, you know. I had the perfect answer in there and I just couldn't go through with it. I could back on track now, ready to start fourth year, think about residency, and move forward with my life. But then the doctor said 'are you sure?' in a way that was nothing more than casual and I lost it. I…this is so fucked up."

"I guess it is," Mark agreed. "But there's no reason you can't still graduate and work."

"How?" Kara asked. "I'm due at the end of April. I'll be huge by the time interviews roll around and who knows if I'll even be able to do rotations by then. It's not like I can just take a week off, have a baby, and pretend nothing happened."

"Of course you can't. But Kara, why do you have to be the only one responsible? I'm…it's my baby, too."

Kara turned then, and stared at him a moment. "I know, I know. And I'd never…I just wish this had never happened right now."

So did he. "But it did happen."

"It did," she agreed softly. "What the hell am I going to do, Mark?"

He grabbed her hand and squeezed it. "We'll manage."

Kara didn't look convinced, but also didn't let go of his hand. "Right."

* * *

"Mark, look! Aren't they adorable?"

The last thing Mark expected or wanted to be assaulted with the second he stepped through the loft's door was not booties. But that was exactly what Maureen dangled in front his face before he even had a chance to put his bag down.

He shoved them aside. "What are you doing with baby accessories?"

"They're for Mimi. I was out shopping and I saw them and couldn't resist. I mean, they're pink and they have rhinestones and they—"

"Are not getting worn by any kid of mine," Roger finished.

"I have to agree with Roger on that one, Maureen," Joanne agreed.

"But, Pookie, pink," Maureen insisted.

"Hey, I like them," Mimi protested.

Maureen shot Roger a smug smile and lifted the booties up again, admiring them.

"Help me out here, Mark," Roger pleaded.

Babies and baby attire were not something Mark needed to discuss at all. "I'm not going there." He headed straight for his bedroom, leaving the discussion behind. He'd thrown his bag down on the bed before he heard the footsteps.

"Something's wrong."

At the sound of Joanne's voice he sighed. "Why do you think anything's wrong?"

"Lawyers have pretty good intuition." She crossed her arms. "Seriously, Mark, something's up. You mad about Roger and Mimi?"

"Roger and Mimi?" he repeated. "Of course not. They're having a baby. I'm the one that pointed out Mimi had a chance to a have a healthy kid in the first place. It's great."

"It is," Joanne agreed. "Even though it has Maureen on a baby kick right now."

"Maureen wants to have a baby?" All he could think about was the one pregnancy scare Maureen had had when they had been dating. Maureen had been petrified and when the test came out negative there had been no denying the look of relief on her face. Of course, he'd be lying if he didn't admit he'd been relieved to.

Still, Maureen wanting a baby…he supposed people changed. Part of life.

"For now, she does. Who knows if she will next week. Though I can't say I'd be totally against the idea," Joanne admitted. "But I'm changing the subject."

"I'm fine," Mark told her. "Tired. Work's been tough ever since Collins died."

"Everything's been tough since Collins died, I think," Joanne said. "You're allowed to admit that, Mark. Allowed to grieve even."

Mark didn't answer right away. What was going on didn't have anything to do with Collins' death, though part of him wished it did. Maybe it would be easier to deal with then. He wasn't the only one that had lost a friend.

And he wasn't the only one in the group that was going to become a father, either. But his situation was different. He wasn't used to this. Kara wasn't used to it. Kara could change her mind again tomorrow, though he doubted she would. He could just see the disproving looks on his parent's faces when he explained the situation, especially his father's.

"I'm grieving, Jo. Collins…I miss him, but I'm fine really. I survived." He wasn't lying, for once. Collins' death had taken a piece of him with it, a piece that he'd never ever be able to replace, but Roger and Mimi were still here. He wasn't completely broken as long as they were around and his plan was still helping them in some small way.

Joanne studied him a moment and Mark couldn't help but feel like a witness being cross-examined on the stand. Was this the intensity she used in court? If so, it was no wonder she made partner.

"Mark."

He swallowed. Maybe he could tell her, talk to her. Joanne knew how to keep a secret. Joanne was his friend. He sat down on the bed.

"Kara's pregnant."

Joanne's expression changed and he could tell that wasn't what she had expected to hear from him at all.

"Kara?" she repeated. "The women from your study group, right?"

"Right."

"I didn't know you were dating."

He almost smiled despite the circumstance. "We're not. It was one time. After Collins."

"Oh." Joanne uncrossed her arms and sat next to him on the bed. "Is she keeping it?"

"She wasn't going to. She made an appointment. I even went with her. She couldn't go through with it."

"Oh."

"Yeah," he said with a nervous laugh. "Seemed straight forward and easy right? Then it's not. Collins told me to get the hell out and experience life a little. I did and it bit me in the ass."

Joanne gave him a small smile. "Mark, I'm sorry—"

He shook his head. "Please, don't apologize. I mean we all know what sex can lead to right? Well, maybe not for you and Maureen, but…I was careful this time. Maureen and I weren't always careful and nothing happened there. Figures, right?" He swallowed. "The thing is…" He stopped, mouth still open, not sure if he wanted to finish his sentence.

"Is what?" Joanne urged.

He looked at her a moment, wondering if he could continue and mentally kicking himself for contemplating such a thing in the first place. He was Mark. Mark never had issues. Or if he did, he never talked about them. Mark was going to be the last man standing, but that was okay, right?

Mark was going to be responsible for another human life. So what? He'd considered himself responsible for the well-being of his friends before. Plus, now he was becoming a doctor. Didn't that make him responsible for a whole hell of a lot more human lives?

"I didn't want her to do it," he finally said, voice low. He'd said it out loud. As much as he wasn't sure what to do, he didn't want her to just get rid of it and pretend it never existed. "I have rights, don't I? When she has it, right?"

Joanne nodded. "Of course you do."

"Good. Please don't tell Roger. Or Mimi. Or Maureen. Especially not Maureen."

"Mark, eventually they would—"

"Eventually's not here yet. Roger and Mimi have their own baby to worry about. Mimi has to focus on staying healthy. I…they don't need to deal with this."

"You mean you don't need to deal with this." Joanne stared him straight in the eye. "Mark, friends are there to help. You just have to let us."

"I'm fine."

"You sound like a broken record." Joanne put a hand over his, squeezing it gently. "Think if you say it enough it will come true?"

"No," he said. "It didn't for Collins." He pulled his hand away. "I have to go. Work."

"Right." She got up. "I'm here, though. Don't forget it."

He managed to smile. "I know. Thanks."

* * *

The next few days were a bit of a blur for him, lost in a sea of work. Mark didn't see the inside of the loft for four days straight and when he did, he was surprised to find the lights off and Roger on the couch, watching a reel of film.

"What are you doing?"

Roger's eyes turned from the screen, but the rest his body didn't budge. "Mimi's working. I was bored. You haven't shot anything new since last week."

He hadn't? He hadn't realized that and Roger had. "If you're bored, why aren't you playing your guitar or writing lyrics?"

"Nothing worth shit is coming out when I try," Roger said casually. "Took a break."

Mark dropped his bag on the floor and stepped closer towards the couch, taking stock of the scene playing in front of him. Sound was off, but he recognized the footage from when Roger had been in the hospital, before Collins' end. He was on rounds. It was Maureen's handy work, not his, and she'd trailed him all day.

It was the reel he only watched once. He looked professional, had even forgotten Maureen existed after a while, but what had bugged him was how much it reminded him of the week he spent with his father in Scarsdale.

He stopped the projector.

"Hey, I was watching that!"

"We have a TV now, Roger. Granted, it has the antenna from hell, but I'm sure it's more interesting than this."

"Daytime television is never interesting."

"It's more interesting than watching me." Mark flipped on a lamp. Though it was mid-day, it was cloudy, making the loft dim.

Roger gave him a strange look. "What is up with you, Mark? You used to beg me to watch your footage and it was usually just some homeless people in the park. Now that it's you, we have to turn it off?"

"No. And it's not my footage, it's Maureen's."

"It doesn't matter whose it is, I was watching it. And if you say I don't need to turn it off, let's turn it back on."

"Roger."

"Roger, what?" Roger was glaring now and Mark knew this had progressed beyond watching a reel of film. Roger wasn't backing down till he won this one and frankly, Mark didn't have the energy to argue.

"Fine," he said, turning the projector back on. He picked up his bag and walked away, hoping to retreat to his room. His brain was hurting, he was hurting, and a quick glance at the answering machine showed Kara had yet to return any of his recent calls.

Roger was faster than he was, blocking Mark's door before he even there. Behind him, Mark could here the projector still going.

"You haven't been home for four days and you're heading to your room."

"Roger, I'm tired. I don't have time for this shit."

"You're always tired. Working. You've been working since Collins died. Since you got laid. I thought that might loosen you up."

"Loosen me up? How many times to I need to say that having sex isn't a magic cure?" Mark tried to move past Roger, but the man wasn't letting him. And like it or not, Roger was bigger than he was.

"Magic cure?" Roger repeated. "That says something's wrong."

Great, not this again. Had Joanne blabbed? No, he knew she hadn't.

"You pissed about Brooklyn?"

Brooklyn. That's what Roger thought was wrong. Okay, Brooklyn he could deal with. Brooklyn he didn't like, but he could manage to string together some bullshit and get Roger to leave him alone.

"No. Brooklyn is fine. A baby needs space and an area better than Alphabet City. You do what you have to do."

Roger was silent a moment, and Mark couldn't help feeling uncomfortable as his friend eyed him. What was Roger looking for? He wasn't that transparent, was he?

"Yeah, well, Mimi and I haven't had much luck in Brooklyn."

Now that wasn't where Mark had expected the conversation to go. He relaxed a little. "You have seven months."

"Yeah." Roger's voice sounded a bit uncertain and while his stance had softened, he still didn't move away from Mark's door.

"I'll be fine, Rog."

"You're not fine, Mark," Roger shot back. "You're working. Just like before. Mark lives in his work, whether it's filming or healing the sick."

Mark felt his throat go dry. "That's not fair. You know why I'm doing this."

"Do I?" Roger asked.

Mark didn't need this. Mark didn't need Roger to pull a sudden 180 on him. Roger had been supportive – what was going on?

"Mimi and I are doing great."

"Yeah, says the guy that refused to see a doctor when he was lying in the loft with appendicitis. What would have happened if I hadn't come home then? What would have happened if I hadn't gone through with this? Would Mark the film maker have been able to help?"

His words shocked him and he knew they shocked Roger. Mark had known his plan, recited it in his head over and over again, tried to explain it to his friends, but he'd never been so blunt.

Roger moved from the door. Mark could still hear the projector going.

Was his life better now? Was his choice right? Was he still Mark, the film maker, or was he something different? A doctor, a friend, a father – too many things to even start thinking about.

"Too much knowledge can kill you, Mark. In the end, nothing's going to save me or Mimi. We'll both end up like Collins some day." Roger's voice was steady, calm. How he and Mimi dealt with their own morality was something Mark didn't know and something he didn't like to think about.

"You don't have to," he said.

"Yeah," Roger responded nonchalantly. "By the way, I actually picked up the phone today. Kara called. Wants you to call her back."

With that Roger walked away, leaving Mark to stare at his closed bedroom door.


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N:** _So_ sorry for the delay, but work has been kicking my ass for a bit. I work in a college biology department and was gearing up for commencement, which was yesterday. It poured like crazy, but it went well and is finally over. This hopefully means more writing time.

Also, Kara is still passing the Mary Sue test, but feel free to smack me if she heads south :).

* * *

"I'm sorry I didn't call you back. I went to Connecticut for a couple of days."

Kara's voice was subdued and Mark clutched the phone a little tighter, hoping that she wasn't about to throw some other curve ball at him.

"Connecticut?"

"My parents live there. Just outside of Stamford. I, uh…told them."

Now that he wasn't expecting. Neither one of them had talked much about their families. Only friends and lovers and school. Kara was still one giant question mark. "And?"

"They were…less than thrilled. Mortified is probably the best word. And when I said I wasn't getting married and Pete wasn't involved, they…" She sighed. "It was a long and horrible conversation."

"I'm sure."

"Yeah…" There was an awkward pause at the end of the line and for a moment, Mark wondered if this was how every conversation between them would be. He liked Kara, she had qualities he admired, like her drive, but this situation was making everything difficult.

"They want to meet you."

He almost dropped the phone. "What?"

"They want to meet you," Kara repeated. "They said that if I wasn't going to marry the father they had a right to least meet him."

"Please tell me you didn't say yes."

"What was I supposed to say, Mark? No? My family's Catholic – strict Catholic – and I could tell this already had the vein in my father's forehead throbbing. If I didn't agree, he might come and hunt you down."

"Hunt me down?" Not good. So not good. Of course, Kara would have an angry father. Didn't every girl like Kara have an angry father? "Kara, you don't want to get married."

"And you do? Please, Mark. One dinner. That's it. Then they may just leave me alone for a few months once they see you're a good person. I…I have to have them in my life."

The polar opposite of him, Mark mused. He hadn't even thought about telling his parents, hoping one day when he had to see them again, they'd draw their own conclusion from the child in his arms. He figured once his mother got over the shock, she'd be too busy cooing over the baby to care about his life choices. His father…well, he wasn't going there. Not now.

"Please, Mark," Kara repeated, and he heard the desperation creep into her voice.

Fuck. Mark felt himself caving. He was a wuss. A complete and utter wuss that didn't know how to say "no."

"I'm not off again until Friday."

"Friday works. I can manage to get off somehow. They'll take us somewhere nice, at least. My mother likes nice."

Mark didn't give two shits what her mother liked. He just wanted this not to be happening.

"I'll call you again when I get the details, all right?"

He closed his eyes. This wasn't going to be good at all, he could just tell. "Fine."

She said goodbye and he responded, finally hanging the phone back up with a click. She'd returned his call at least. He was majorly fucked now, but then again, he'd been majorly fucked before the phone call.

"I thought you said you and Kara were a one time thing."

Mark almost jumped at the sound of Roger's voice.

"We are."

"One time things don't call you back. I should know."

"Yeah, I suppose you should." Before Mimi, before April, before HIV, Roger had led a different life. One where he was the big rock star with so much potential and had a different girl in his bed every night. Roger didn't return phone calls and women hadn't seemed to care.

"It's…complicated," he continued, hoping Roger would drop it. They'd already had one confrontation today and Mark didn't have the energy or the patience for another one.

Roger just stared at him. "Fine, don't tell me. Whatever."

Roger wasn't going to just drop it. Roger was going to be a shit head about it. Wonderful.

"Don't pull this crap."

"This crap?" Roger repeated. "You the one that isn't fucking talking. You're the one that's always all about everyone else fucking talking. So fucking talk."

Mark sighed. "Roger…"

"Talk," Roger repeated, both his voice and stance firm, almost threatening. "What the hell is going on with this Kara chick? You knock her up or something?"

Mark froze. His mouth opened to respond, but nothing came out.

"Holy shit, you did."

Mark blinked, suddenly feeling the need to defend himself. To push it all aside. "It doesn't matter. It's my problem, you have other—"

"Things to worry about?" Roger finished. "Jesus, Mark. You really think I wouldn't have time to listen to you?"

Mark didn't respond. Roger was planning on moving to Brooklyn. Packing up, taking Mimi, and moving forward. Mark wanted every bit of happiness for his friends, but Brooklyn wasn't part of his plan.

Maybe Roger wasn't the one not listening.

"No," he said softly. "Roger, this is just…" He sighed. "I don't want to get into another argument, okay?"

"Another argument?" Roger shook his head. "You're just avoiding everything again."

"Don't do that, Roger. I said it before and I'll say it again. That's not fair."

"Life isn't fair," Roger shot back. "It's okay to admit you're scared shitless. Because I sure as hell am."

"You and Mimi—"

"Are fine now," Roger interrupted. "But as you are so quick to point out, we won't be forever. Even if the kid's healthy, who know if either one of us will be here to celebrate its next birthday."

This time it was Mark shaking his head. "That's not going to happen."

"How do you know, Mark? You're not God. If there even is one."

Roger's words hit him hard, even harder than their previous conversation that afternoon. Roger wasn't one for talking. Roger was a hypocrite, but Roger had changed. Mimi had brought out the best in his friend. Roger had helped her get clean, making him responsible for someone else for a change.

"You, on the other hand," Roger continued. "Don't have of any of that holding you back. You should have a kid. Hell, you should get married. Get out more. Make a movie. Fuck this whole med school thing."

He couldn't. He'd changed, too. Into what, he wasn't quite sure, but he wasn't the same person he'd been before. Angel had helped him change before, Collins pushed other things into motion.

He couldn't go back. He wasn't sure of many things, but he was sure of that.

"I can't do that, Roger," he said.

"Why?" Roger responded.

Why. Such a simple question. "Because I—" he swallowed, trying to form his words carefully. Trying not to put his foot in his mouth.

"Because you like it?" Roger asked.

"So what if I do?" he defended. "Does that mean I'm a sell out?"

Roger was quiet a moment before speaking. "No," he finally said.

Mark nodded, feeling a little bit of tension between the two of them fade, for now at least. Mark wasn't sure what Roger was trying to do.

"What are you going to do about Kara?" Roger asked.

"I don't know," he admitted. "I don't know."

* * *

Mark wanted to run. Run fast and far, far away.

But he couldn't. He didn't. Instead, he took a deep breath, straightened his tie and took one more look at the place he'd come to for a much needed burst of courage.

"I fucked up," he said, knowing he was talking to thin air, but not caring. The air was damp, the grass wet from an afternoon drizzle, and Mark sighed as he knelt down carefully and put the daisy he'd brought across Angel's grave.

"Sorry, no flower for you Collins, but I figured it was more Angel's style," he said to the headstones. His finger traced Collins' name in the stone.

"This is the right thing." He snorted. "I always do the right thing, don't I?"

Right thing was a relative term. His parents certainly didn't always see it that way, but Mark didn't care much about that. He cared about his friends and he'd never thought twice about doing something for them. Maureen needs help with her equipment? Sure, look beyond the fact that she stomped on your heart and help her. Roger needs rehab? Okay, go beg Cindy for money and try to forget just who gave you that black eye.

Go to dinner to meet the parents of the girl you got pregnant but admitted she had absolutely no feelings for you? Of course.

He stared down at Collins and Angel for another minute before gathering himself, his hand once again reaching up to straighten his tie, and walking away.

He didn't want to do this. Kara's parents were going to eat him alive. It was going to awkward and horrible, he was sure.

It would most likely be a complete waste of his time.

The restaurant Kara's parents had chosen was a ritzy one, all right. Smack dab in the middle of mid-town, complete with high prices and a jacket and tie requirement. Mark had dug through his closet and found the most respectable clothing he owned and still felt underdressed as he walked up to the front door.

Kara spotted him the moment he entered and made a beeline for him.

"Mark," she said, giving him a nervous smile. "Great timing. We were just seated."

She led him through a small maze of people towards the back of the dining area to a table where a nicely dressed middle-aged couple sat.

"Mom, Dad," Kara said. "This is Mark. Mark, this is my mom and Dad, um…"

The woman got up and extended a hand politely. "I'm Evelyn." She gave him a small smile and Mark shook her hand, thinking maybe he could survive this. It was, after all just dinner. "And this is—"

"The father of the girl who you got pregnant," the man finished, not budging an inch. He face was tight, but Mark did notice that he and Kara shared the same dark brown eyes.

"Otherwise known as Frank," Evelyn continued, giving her husband a look. Mark resisted the urge to tug at his tie again.

They sat and Evelyn ordered a bottle of wine off the wine list and Mark tried not to look shocked when he noticed just how much said bottle cost. She also made sure to order Kara sparking water, another item that wasn't cheap.

"So," Evelyn started, after the wine and water had been poured and deemed satisfactory. Mark couldn't help thinking that she and his mother would get along quite well, which, frankly, scared the crap out of him. "Kara says you are also finishing your third year of medical school."

"I am." Underneath the table, he felt Kara grab his hand and squeeze it. He flinched, but didn't let go. It was just for reassurance, he figured, but it still sent him a mixed message.

"What are you planning on specializing in? Kara, here, was thinking she wanted to go into cardiology. Right, honey?"

"Right," Kara agreed.

"I want to work with HIV and AIDs patients," Mark answered.

"Queers, you mean," Frank said matter-of-factly as he glanced over the menu.

Kara looked horrified. "Daddy!"

Mark resisted the urge to walk out, right then and there.

Evelyn simply gave him a tight smile. "I believe the politically correct term is homosexuals, dear. Forgive him. He's usually not this blunt."

"Don't apologize, Evelyn. I know what I said."

Evelyn turned, smile still in place. "You need to watch your language," she hissed. "This is the father of our future grandchild."

"The bastard father who won't marry her, you mean."

Mark blinked and he heard Kara suck in a breath. Something else was going on here. "Won't marry her?" Mark repeated. "Kara doesn't want to marry me. She doesn't love me." He wasn't sure why he added the last part, but the words were out of his mouth before he knew it. Evelyn simply looked to Kara.

"He's right, Mom," she said. "No matter what you or Dad say, we're not getting married."

An awkward silence fell over the table. Even Evelyn's perfect demeanor cracked a little and all eyes fell down to the menus. When the waiter came back it was a welcome interruption.

"Where are you from, Mark?" Evelyn finally said, once the waiter had left with their orders.

So it was back to small talk. Small talk Mark could deal with. "Scarsdale."

Evelyn brightened, probably from the fact that it was an upper middle class area, Mark mused. If only she could see the loft. She'd probably cringe.

"Not too far away," Evelyn commented. "Your parents must be happy to have you close."

"Yeah…" He grabbed for his wine, taking a large sip to finish the glass. He hoped the waiter would come back and top it off again.

"Mark also films, Mom," Kara jumped in, diverting the topic away from his parents. "He had a documentary come out a couple of years ago."

Across the table, Mark could have sworn he saw Frank's eyebrows rise slightly, but when he coughed, Mark figured he'd imagined it.

"Really?" Evelyn's voice held an air of false interest. Mark noticed it right away. It was the interest a parent gave their child when they didn't give a shit about what their child was doing, but acted like they thought it was wonderful and amazing. His mother had done that with what she thought was his filming "hobby."

"Well, it was just seen very locally."

"Local is still exposure," Kara defended. "And he's shooting another one. Right, Mark?"

Now Mark was sure something was up. Kara barely knew the depths of his film career, just that his camera was often with him at work and that it was a hit on the pediatric ward.

"Really?" Evelyn's eyebrow arched higher than it had before. "I don't see how your studies would give you much time to film. I thought you were planning on be a doctor, not a film maker."

And who says I can't be both, Mark wanted to shout, but held his tongue. He felt his conversation with Roger echo in his mind.

Both, he could do both. He liked both.

"I do suppose it's a wonderful hobby, though," Evelyn continued.

"You make any money off that first film of yours?"

Mark was surprised, though he wasn't sure if it was by the question or the fact that Kara's father had finally spoken to him without disdain.

"A little," he admitted. _Today 4 U_ had made him enough to pay rent for a bit and cover Roger and Mimi's AZT, not that that was something he really wanted to get into. Fortunately he didn't need to when the food came.

Silence was fine as long as food was being consumed, so it remained quiet for another few minutes. Still Mark couldn't help glancing at Frank, wondering just when this evening would be over.

He hated dealing with parents – especially his own - and hated the fact that soon he'd actually be one. How could be a good father when he wasn't even if he knew what being a father was in the first place?

The meal progressed slowly, and just when Mark thought there was a light at the end of the tunnel, Frank managed to insult Mark's friends once more.

"More people with AIDS? Must be another drug addict or queer, I'd assume."

Despite the fact that Roger and Mimi were ex addicts, Mark had had it. He got up out of his seat and slammed his napkin onto the table.

"Not every person with HIV is drug addict or homosexual," he hissed. "Get your facts straight before you make assumptions."

That's when Frank grabbed his chest. Suddenly, Mark wasn't the only one on his feet anymore.

"Honey?" Evelyn asked, sounded slightly worried.

"I'm fine," he insisted, his hand still on his chest. "Just a little tightness for a moment."

Alarm bells went off in Mark's head. Insults were forgotten as his and Kara's eyes locked. She'd obviously reached the same conclusion as he did.

"Um, Dad, how long have you had this tightness?" Kara's hand was now on the table, poised to get up.

"Kara, as I told you mother, I'm fine. Let's just get on with this –"

That's when he went white and his hand clenched. That's also when both Evelyn and Kara lost it. Evelyn started screaming. Kara just froze.

He was the one that actually started CPR and made the waiter call an ambulance. His hands were killing him by the time the paramedics arrived and he was fairly certain he might have broken one of Frank's ribs, but it wouldn't matter if he'd managed to keep blood flowing.

It was an MI. Myocardical infarction. Heart attack. The paramedics got his heart back on track within two minutes and had Frank bundled up and ready to go in another few. Evelyn, teary-eyed, rode with them.

Mark managed to get a still pale and shocked Kara into a cab.

"Oh my god," she whispered as they headed through traffic towards the hospital. She turned her head, blinked, her eyes wide. "I froze. I…"

"He's your father," Mark said simply.

"Yeah." She shook her head. "You didn't freeze. I mean, you…"

He gave her a smile. "Do you think your father will still hate me?"

Kara stared at him a moment, then laughed. A long laugh that soon became sobbing. Mark immediately reached out for her, letting her cry on his shoulder for the rest of the ride.

In the end, Frank would be fine, though it took more than a few hours to find out such a thing. It could have been worse, much, much worse. Mark sat in the waiting room the whole time, not saying many words, just stroking Kara's hair as the doctors ran every test in the book on her father.

"Thank you."

Mark's eyes popped open at the words and his found Kara standing in front of him, eyes still red but thankfully tear free. He'd closed his eyes for just a second, trying to focus on the fact that Kara's father would be okay rather than the fact that he had to be at his hospital, all the way across town, in a little over an hour.

"He won't hate you," Kara continued, "because I don't hate you."

"Doesn't work that way," he answered. Honestly, he wasn't even sure if he wanted the man to like him.

"It does now."

Mark only wished life were that easy.

* * *

A/N:

Medical fact randomness – an MI (myocardial infarction) can just appear out of the blue, many times going unnoticed until it's too late. Again, though, slight liberty taken for drama and plotlines :).


	17. Chapter 17

Mark never expected an apology from Frank and, in the end he wasn't disappointed because he never truly got one. What he got instead was a simple muttered thank you during a very awkward hospital visit, but Kara insisted that coming from his father that meant a lot.

Kara…that was another subject still wide open.

The marriage subject was one again dropped and he was glad, because there were too many other things to worry about. Fourth year was starting soon and he'd needed to start looking for a job post graduation if he ever expected to support this baby he and Kara were going to have. And as much as he hated it, he began to realize the loft wasn't the ideal place for a child to live in, even if all the time Mark got to see him or her was every other weekend. It needed work and baby-proofing galore. He was beginning to see just why Mimi and Roger wanted to move to Brooklyn.

He didn't like it, but he understood.

Maybe the loft could be improved upon. He loved the loft. Not everything needed to change, did it?

He knew deep down that it did. And that frightened him even more.

Plus to top it all off, his mom was calling frequently again. Apparently Cindy was pregnant again and she was gushing and begging her "baby boy" to come home and mentioned once how he really needed to settle down and have babies of his own, especially now that he'd come to his senses and all.

Oh, if only she knew.

"It looks like a blob to me. Everyone expects me to look at it and feel joy or some other wonderful emotion, but I can't even see it. How can I appreciate something I can't even see?"

Mark stared at the sonogram photo Mimi had proudly hung on the fridge by their lone magnet – a free one advertising a dry cleaner's. Though he knew what to look for, he understood Roger's feelings. The picture didn't yet look much like a developed human being. It was nothing more than an outline, at best.

He wondered if he'd feel anything when Kara showed him the first sonogram photo of their baby.

"Well, you heard the heartbeat, right?"

Roger grinned. "Yeah. Now that was incredible. Much better than some blurry, dark picture that Mimi wants me to gush over."

"They're both pretty significant, I'd think." Mimi's pregnancy was moving along fairly well, so well, in fact, that Mark expected to come home one day soon and hear Roger announce that he and Mimi were leaving.

"No luck in Brooklyn still, huh?"

Roger just shrugged.

"You know, you could just stay here. Offer's still out there."

"I know," Roger said, walking away from the kitchen area and towards the windows. He picked up his guitar and absently strummed a few keys. "Are you going to stay here? I mean, after you and Kara…"

"I don't know. I don't know the answer to a lot of things lately, it seems." He turned from the fridge. "You didn't tell Mimi, did you?"

Roger lowered his guitar. "Tell her what?"

"You know. About Kara and the…" The look on Roger's face said it all. "You did, didn't you? Crap, Roger."

"She's my wife," Roger defended.

"So? You never spilled your guts to April. Hell, you never spilled your guts to anyone." Not even me, Mark added silently. Roger sulked in his own Roger, rock-star way. Roger was good at that.

"April was different. April wasn't…" he trailed off. "I was so fucked up then."

Mark sighed. "Next thing I know, Maureen's going to find out."

"Maybe she already has. I mean, Joanne knows, right?"

"Right," he admitted, "but she promised."

Roger shrugged. "What's the big deal, anyway?"

"No big deal," he said. Perhaps the problem was he was used to putting everyone's needs before his that he wasn't sure exactly what to do with his own. But that little piece of trivia remained in his brain, tucked in a far corner. He changed the subject. "If Mimi knows, I'm surprised she hasn't found me and hugged the stuffing out of me. She's very-"

"Hormonal?" Roger finished. "She cries all the fucking time, you know. And I picked up one of those baby books from the library—"

Mark's eyebrow raised. "Library?"

"Yes, library," Roger continued. "I do read, you know. It was the famous one. What to Expect When You're Expecting."

Mark stifled a grin at the thought of Roger reading that book. "Okay. And?"

"It's just going to get worse!"

"Well hormones levels do rise as pregnancy progresses, Roger."

"I don't know if can last that long. I mean, it's bad enough that she had to give up smoking. She was already bitchy about that and now…" By now Mark was trying even harder not to grin and failing. "Hey! Just wait…that Kara chick will go berserk and I'll just laugh at you."

Somehow he couldn't picture Kara going "berserk" as Roger put it, but he supposed anything was possible. After all, he didn't even truly know Kara well enough to determine if the hormones were affecting her or not.

"Oh shit," Roger suddenly said and Mark frowned.

"What?"

"I forgot to get pickles. Mimi wanted pickles."

"Mimi hates pickles. Whenever she gets a hamburger at the Life, she makes sure they don't put any on."

"Well, she doesn't hate them anymore," Roger responded, grabbing his coat. "And let's just say it's better for both of us if they are pickles in this place when she gets off work."

That night when Mimi got home, she proceeded to eat half a jar of pickles and hug Mark to death, in that order. She also told him Maureen had dropped by the Life and she was sorry, she didn't know Maureen didn't know.

Maybe he should just take out an ad in Village Voice. Then everyone would know. Well, except his parents, perhaps.

A quick, painful phone call to his mother and he'd learned that Cindy was due just two weeks after Kara, coincidentally. He hated irony and plotted about how he could continue to avoid Scarsdale until he graduated. Because, of course, they'd make him attend the ceremony, his mother would take a million and one pictures, and he'd have to grin and bear it because they were the ones that financed it all. His father would probably be beaming.

His father. Another subject he hated. Mark needed to choose a specialty if he had any hopes of getting a job. He still planned on doing what he had planned on doing all along, speaking to Andy about working clinic hours, even, but still residency had to be completed. Infectious diseases, maybe.

It was all very, very tiring. He hadn't spoken to Kara in over a week. He hadn't even been back to the loft in three days. Therefore, he was surprised when he had a visitor during his limited break.

"I need your help."

Looking up from his cup of coffee in the hospital cafeteria, the last person Mark expected to see was Maureen. But there she was.

"What are you doing here?" he asked.

Maureen plopped down in the chair across from him. "I told you, I need help. I need new headshots."

"New ones? Maureen, didn't you just have new photos taken two months ago?" He sipped his coffee. At least Maureen was a distraction. Work really sucked this week, he still had no clue where he stood with Kara, and interviews were around the corner.

"I look fat in them. Come on, Mark. You're the only that could ever make me look good."

He had to smile at that. "I thought you believed you always looked good."

"Well, I do," Maureen agreed, "but you just help…well, you know. Oh, Mark, baby, please take the pictures for me? I have an audition on Thursday and I can't hand them what I have now."

"I don't even know where my 35 millimeter is," Mark admitted. He'd started out with photographs but moving film soon captured his interest and his heart. The still camera was shoved aside.

"You can find it," Maureen responded. She tilted her head and pouted her lips. "Please."

He caved. He always, always caved. In the back of his mind he could just hear Collins teasing him. The memory stung a moment, making him remember his friend wasn't actually there to tease him, but it faded faster than he thought it would.

Good memory, it was. It was all right to remember.

He sighed. "All right."

If he didn't know better, he would have sworn he heard someone say "sucker."

* * *

"I can't believe Kara's pregnant," Maureen said in between poses. Maureen knew all right, and was finding the idea confusing.

You and me both, Mark thought, but refrained from commenting on it.

"You encouraged me to get out. Jumped on the get Mark laid bandwagon," he pointed out.

"I know," she agreed. "But having sex isn't…"

"Having a baby?" He finished. "We're not getting married. She doesn't love me."

"Do you love her?"

He wasn't sure, but he paused for a few seconds before answering. "It was one night." He shifted his attention back to the camera, focusing it directly on Maureen's face and snapping. Lowering the lens, he sighed.

"You'll make a good father." Maureen's voice was soft. She'd moved from where he'd told her to stand. He almost laughed.

"Mo, you're the one that said we'd make shitty parents. Remember, that one time when…"

"I remember," Maureen answered, "But that was like years ago. Things change."

"Yeah," he agreed, "They do, don't they?" Maureen wasn't anywhere near her assigned spot, but Mark clicked his lens anyway. The most beautiful pictures he'd ever taken of Maureen had been when she wasn't posing.

"Hey!"

"Sorry." He put the camera down. "We're done, I think."

"Thanks." She was still close. A little close for him, actually. He wasn't in love with her anymore, he knew that, but sometimes it was easy to see why he had been.

Joanne was lucky. So were Roger and Mimi. And Collins and Angel had each other, even in the afterlife, he was convinced.

He didn't have anyone. Kara was…

"Stop thinking," Maureen said.

"Thinking?" he asked. "Who said I was thinking?"

"You're always thinking," she answered, "and when you bend your head down like that…" She gave him a small smile. "She's a fool, you know."

"Who's a fool?" he asked, even though he knew exactly who Maureen was talking about.

She didn't answer his question, just shook her head. "I'm sorry, Mark."

He blinked. "Sorry?"

"I was a fool, too," she said and leaned in towards him. His heart started pounding. Was she going to…?

She kissed his cheek and he was surprised when he felt a surge of relief. Relief? What was going on? This wasn't Maureen.

"Mo, what the hell was that?"

"An apology," she admitted. "I suck at them, but fighting with Joanne helps. I fucked up back then, Mark. Majorly. You know me and relationships. I mean, in high school I had a different boyfriend every week and when we started dating—"

"You broke up with me right after the prom," he finished. "We lasted six months."

"Record for me. Before Joanne, at least."

"You love her."

Maureen smiled. "Yeah, I really do. But that doesn't excuse—"

"It's the past, Mo. Not worth it."

"Of course it's worth it," she said. "I never apologize. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity. Where's your camera?"

He let out a laugh. Maureen always had to put on a show. "We would have never lasted, Maureen."

"If you got a sex change, maybe we would have."

She said it so seriously that he lost it. The laughter exploded and he didn't stop until he felt tears start to form.

"Not happening," he managed to wheeze. "I like my penis, thank you."

"I liked your penis, too, once upon a time," Maureen said, not skipping a beat. "Like I said, she's crazy." She flipped her hair over her shoulder. "So when can I get the pictures?"  
**_  
_**


	18. Chapter 18

_**A/N: **It's been a while, I know. And this is short, so I apologize. RL's been hectic lately between moving and a new guy in my life :o). Plus still debating with myself on the ending of this fic..._

_As always, reviews are loved._

* * *

"Zoom in on the empty floor of what will soon be Mimi and Roger's Brooklyn apartment…"

"Mark, you say Brooklyn like it's a dirty word!" Mimi's face popped up in the middle of his frame and he couldn't help grinning.

"It's not a dirty word," he assured her. "It's just…"

"Brooklyn," Roger finished. "And not the lower East side. But look." Mark tilted his lens and followed Roger as he walked over to the wall and gently kicked the baseboard heating. "Heat! And can you believe it's actually included in the rent?"

Mark lowered the camera. "Really? Now that's a concept."

"Heat that works when you need it to is all that's important to me," Mimi said, standing next to Roger. She was in profile and wearing a shirt that rode up her midsection slightly. For the first time, Mark noticed she was really showing now. Mimi must have caught him looking, because she tugged her shirt down.

"Don't even say it," she cautioned him. "I know it's there."

"Of course it's there. You're pregnant, baby," Roger told her, lopping an arm around her waist and laying his palm directly on her stomach.

"It's a great apartment," Mark told them. "Roomy."

"Close to the subway," Mimi added.

"Which means you better get your ass here and see us. A lot," Roger told him.

"You got subway fare, then, Rog?" Mark smiled and Roger just rolled his eyes. "Kidding. When are you moving?"

"Next month. Place needs to be cleaned and painted. Landlord's paying for all that."

"Next month," Mark repeated. It was happening. Truly happening. He was happy for Roger and Mimi, really was, but he wasn't looking forward to coming home an empty loft. The last time the loft had been that empty was when Roger had gone to Santa Fe.

An empty loft made him think far too much.

He picked up his camera again, focusing the lens on Roger and Mimi. Mimi glowed in that way that Mark supposed most pregnant women glowed. They looked happy, healthy.

A perfect moment captured on film. He briefly wondered if he'd look back at this, years form now, and think it was perfect. If years from now both Roger and Mimi would be around to reflect as well.

Brooklyn, he thought. Another testament to change.

* * *

"How's interviewing going?"

Mark sighed and dragged his fork through his salad. "All right as long as I can skip the one at the children's hospital at New York-Presbyterian."

"Skip? You never skip an interview."

"I don't want to go into pediatrics. I'd make a lousy pediatrician. You know what I want to do. I want to—"

"HIV. Infectious diseases. I know," Andy interrupted. "But kids get HIV, too. More than we'd like lately. And they're the ones that can't do anything to stop it from happening."

Mark almost sighed again. He should have known lunch with Andy would make him think about things he'd rather not. Thankfully, he hadn't revealed to the man his situation with Kara.

Of course, Mark wouldn't be surprised if Andy knew. At all.

"You sound like my supervisor on my peds rotation. She's the one that got me the interview and she's the one that says I need to consider it. She says I'd be good at it. But it's not part of my plan."

"Your plan?" Andy repeated. "You know neither you nor your father completely clued me in on what this plan is."

"My friends—"

"Are HIV positive. We're been through that. Two of them are gone, but two are left. The same two that are having a baby, right?"

"Right." Mark knew where he was going, and he didn't like it. "But the chances that Mimi will have a HIV positive child are slim."

"We think they're slim," Andy corrected. "All the facts aren't in yet. And slim doesn't mean it can't or won't happen."

Mark put his fork down, gaze dropping to his plate. Andy was right. So damn right that it hurt. He'd been wrapped up in his own issues lately that he'd pushed aside the idea of Roger and Mimi's child getting a death sentence from birth.

"Their child will probably be fine," he said.

"Probably, yes," Andy agreed. "Someone has to play devil's advocate. You knew that coming into this whole thing. There's no such thing as a sure thing in medicine. Sometimes that one percent can get you in the end."

"Yeah." Mark suddenly lost his appetite.

He kept the damn interview.

* * *

She'd been avoiding him, Mark knew. Knew it too well. He hated how every second with her lapsed into an awkwardness that neither one of them knew how to deal with. He almost felt he was back in high school.

"Kara."

He found her outside the ER, leaning against the brick and staring out at the street. She turned and looked at him.

"Can't hide forever, I suppose?" she said and attempted a smile, but it came out strained. She smoothed down her shirt, pausing briefly when her hands reached the hard to miss bump.

"Wow, you look…"

"Pregnant?" she finished. She let out a small laugh.

Mark shifted his feet, and folded his arms. It was cold, no question, but that wasn't what had him uneasy. Damnit, why was this always so hard? Why couldn't they be soul mates, or even good friends? Why did there have to be this strangeness in the air when he opened his mouth to speak to her?

Part of him knew why, the very same part that told Roger a week after he and Maureen that he didn't miss her.

"How's interviewing going?"

"All right," she answered. "They all ask when I'm due, which is what I expected. But I was wrong about the timing. It works out well."

"I almost bought a crib the other day. I mean, I saw it in the window. At a store. Wasn't sure if—"

"I don't have a crib yet," she told him. "And that's sweet."

They lapsed back into uncomfortable silence.

"Mark, I—"

"Kara, I—"

They both laughed and for a brief second, the air cleared.

"Why does this always suck?" Kara said. "You're a good guy. It would be so much easier if…"

"I know." He gave her a small smile. "But, to be honest, we never really did give it a try."

"I suppose," Kara answered. "Love isn't something that happens over night, right? I think I watched way too many movies growing up and thought it did. Of course, I also thought I'd never be one of," she gestured to his stomach, "these girls, but here I am."

"Here we are."

"So…did your roommates ever find an apartment in Brooklyn?"

"Yeah," he answered. "They move in two weeks."

"My lease is up next month. I, uh, haven't told my landlord if I was staying. There's no room for a baby there."

Her words surprised him and the awkwardness reared its ugly head again. He knew what she was saying. It made sense.

He didn't want to leave the loft.

"The loft needs a lot of work," he said.

"It's cheap, though," she replied. "Babies are expensive and residents make nothing, especially once the loans kick in."

He didn't say anything right away and Kara took his silence to be a bad thing.

"Look, Mark, maybe this is a horrible idea—"

"It is," he managed. "But it's…" He swallowed. "I think I'd like to take you on a date. No alcohol, no sex, just us."

"Just us?" she repeated.

"Worth a shot at least once right? After all, you owe me after that dinner with your parents."

Kara grinned. "You've got me there. And I'll tell you what. I'll even pay."


	19. Chapter 19

**Quick A/N: **An update! I know! And it's tiny, but it's something, right? I have excuses, but they are that, excuses. Hope you enjoy this scene and hopefully more will come soon.

* * *

As far as dates went, Mark wouldn't say his and Kara's was the best he'd ever been on, but it was far from the worst. Her protruding stomach made normal first date conversation feel awkward.

"We're past this," Kara said.

"Past what?" He responded, fingering the outside of his water glass. They'd chosen a small Italian place not far from the hospital known for its moderately price yet fantastic food. Though, honestly, Mark hadn't tasted a thing all night.

"This," Kara repeated, sighing. "This...first date stuff. You've met my parents, we've slept together."

"True." But how much did he really know about her, he thought. He tried to lighten the mood. "Past the embarrassment of seeing each other naked, right?" He laughed nervously.

Kara cracked a smile. "Right. Which I suppose makes it a not-so-bad date from the start." She paused a moment. "We can start small, you know. Like...what's your favorite color? Mine's green."

"Blue," he responded and oddly enough it broke the ice. Tension eased and it turned into a game of twenty questions. He learned that both he and Kara had piano lessons thrust upon them at age six and that they both hated every minute of it. Both of them hated carrots and onions. Also, Kara, it turned out, was somewhat of a movie fan. She saw as many movies as she could, despite their appeal.

"I have to give everything a chance," she said.

"No, you really don't," he argued. "There is a lot of stuff out there that, well..."

"Sucks?" she finished. "Of course. But sometimes watching a bad movie is even more fun than watching a good one. When I was in college I used to open the paper to the movie listing, close my eyes and point. Then I'd just go to the one my finger landed on. Sometimes I'd drag a friend. Even the worst movie in the world can be a good time."

"Did you and Pete go to a lot of movies?" Mark wasn't sure what he asked that, but Kara just shook her head.

"Pete really only liked certain movies. Action movies. Sports films. Typical guy crap, if you ask me. We never meshed there. Now that I think about it, we didn't mesh many places. I was career driven, he was..." She stopped and shook her head. "Doesn't matter. It's done. And I think we are, too."

Mark frowned. "Done?" Did she want to give up already?

"With dinner," she said, pointing down to her plate.

"Oh."

"You think I was going to say something else?" She asked, chewing on her bottom lip. It was something Mark felt like he'd noticed her doing for the first time that night, but yet when he thought back, he could picture her doing it before. "I, well..." he stammered.

She grinned. "You know, you never did tell me much about your movie. You're a film maker, right? Then why are you in medical school? I never asked you that. I mean, it's a passion for me, but-"

"It is for me, too," he butted in, shocking himself at how quickly the words came out of his mouth.

"I sense there's a but with that answer though."

"No but." He paused a minute. Did he mean that? No but? "There's an 'and.'"

Kara nodded. "An 'and.' I like that."

"Yeah..." His life was changing he knew. Changing with every moment and not just with his friends, Andy, and medical school. Maybe he was changing.

"I'd love to see some of your current footage," Kara continued. "But I have to confess something."

"What?"

"Your film. It played in the Village. It was the one of the movies my finger landed on."

He blinked. "Seriously? You mean you saw it?"

She nodded. "Ages ago. I never made the connection until right before the dinner with my parents and after that..."

"That's why you brought it up then?"

"Yes." She bit her lip again. "It was very good. And I'm not just saying that, you know. I liked it because it had heart."

"It was personal," he admitted.

"You could tell." Their waiter appeared, dropping off the check. Kara grabbed it before he even had a chance. "My treat, remember?" She laid her credit card down.

"Thank you."

"Well, I owed you dinner."

He shook his head. "Not just for dinner." They lapsed into a moment of silence, but this time it didn't feel forced or foreign. It wasn't perfect, but he'd take it. It was something. And frankly, he needed something. He had another chance to push forward and he needed to take it. It was why he was even here in the first place. Everything was backwards. Maybe years later, he'd laugh at this. Maybe he wouldn't. Hell, he didn't even know what he would be doing next week, let alone years later.

No day but today. The words rang in his ears. Words to live by, words he would say that Angel had once lived by. That Mimi still lived by.

"You know it's still early. And it's Saturday. I don't have to be anywhere until four tomorrow. You want to catch a movie?"

She grinned. "What movie?"

Mark shrugged. "How about we just buy a paper and point?"


	20. Chapter 20

**Author's Note: ** It has been a long time since I started and updated this story. Does anyone remember it? When here's a chapter that may be revised later, but I wanted to let folks know I was still working on it. I saw the Rent tour here in Boston last weekend and it awakened the muse. This story will be finished!

* * *

Before he knew it, he and Kara made a habit of seeing movies together in some of the precious hours they had in between shifts. Some good, some so awful they would throw popcorn at the screen. One so boring, they'd ignored it and made out in the back row of the theater like a pair of horny teenagers.

In fact, if it weren't for Kara's expanding belly, this would have been a typical relationship. It had the comfort of a new, yet connected relationship. That was something he hadn't had since Maureen, he realized. He had his friends, and loved each and every one of them, but this was different. It fulfilled something else, something he didn't realize how much he missed or needed.

He couldn't help smiling as he dragged tape across one of Mimi's boxes. She teased him gently as they loaded as much as they could into the back of one of the in-town U-Haul rental trucks.

"Do you like her?" Mimi asked him.

"Of course I like her," he answered. "But what kind of question is that? I like a lot of people."

"Not enough to grin like an idiot," Roger piped in as he hoisted another box into the back. "Last box. It could work out, you know."

"Or it could not." He leaned against the truck. "We go to the movies."

"And are three months away from having something that will share your genes," Roger shot back. "I like her."

Mark was surprised to hear that. Not that he thought Roger wouldn't like Kara, but that he hadn't really spent any time with her. Maureen's constant prodding had lead to a couple of awkward meetings at the loft when Kara had spent the night. Mark supposed that apart from that, Roger and Kara might have crossed paths on the way to the bathroom or something. Kara and Mimi shared the common bond of pregnancy, but honestly, he and Kara didn't even talk about the baby much. It was the elephant in the room of sorts. They were content to date. And if Mark only thought about that, it was easy to smile.

"Thanks. I think," he told Roger and watched Roger pull down the door to the truck. "This is it, right?"

"Yeah. You know, it's only Brooklyn."

"It's not the loft."

"It will have heat."

"Then it definitely isn't the loft."

Roger shook his head. "I guess it marks the end and the beginning."

"Poetic words, Davis. Going to work those into a song?" he teased.

Roger shrugged. "That kinda shit sells like crazy these days. Could make a lot of money. Money that could help my kid."

"You're growing up, Roger."

"Nah," Roger said. "Just moving on. It's not Santa Fe."

"No, it's not. It's Brooklyn."

Roger laughed. "Man, it will be weird. I have a feeling the next couple of months will be weird."

Mark didn't realize how true Roger words would be.

* * *

It happened so fast, by the time anyone could take a breath, life had completely changed.

Mark stared at the incubator, wishing that anything but this was happening. But it was. She was so damn small. Nothing that small could survive. Nothing that small was ever *meant* to survive.

"Fuck, Mark. What are we supposed to do? What the hell am *I* supposed to do?"

Roger sat in a chair, hand touching the plastic. It was the closest he or Mimi had come to touching their child since birth. And it was quite possibly the most defeated Mark had ever seen Roger look.

Roger had been through a lot. Hell, they all had really. Being a junkie or being the one helping said junkie get clean were two not-so-great parts to play. And finding April...

Things were never supposed to end up this way.

Roger and Mimi hadn't even lived in Brooklyn a month when Mark had gotten a frantic phone call from Roger saying Mimi was having contractions. She was only seven months along and was panicking, dragging Roger along for the ride, but Mark hadn't been worried. Early contractions could happen in first pregnancies. He told them so and to go to the hospital and he'd meet them there. He thought it would be fine. Modern medicine to the rescue and all.

He should have known better, really.

The contractions didn't stop. They only got worse and no amount of medication or wishful thinking was holding them back. Babies could survive at this stage, but Mimi's HIV status didn't make things any easier. Especially when the contractions got even stronger and she was ready to push before a C-section could even be fully discussed.

The baby wanted out into a world it wasn't ready for.

Early tests indicated baby girl Davis was indeed HIV positive, but only time would tell for sure. However, it was time Mark feared wouldn't exist. Despite the fact that she'd been 28 weeks to term, her lungs were still struggling, not truly developed enough to survive. She was on a respirator and he'd seen the grim look on the pediatrician's face.

And he sighed, thinking of how earlier that week he'd matched at New York-Presbyterian. Match Day was a big deal, a day long affair where white envelopes where distributed, revealing the fates for the next three to seven years of residency. Kara had been freaking out about being placed outside of New York (which she wasn't), he'd just wondered if he had made the right choice for his first, second, and third selections.

In the end, he'd kept the interview and pediatrics it was at New-York Presbyterian.

And as he gazed over Mimi and Roger's daughter, he thought of the irony of the decision. He'd picked a path specifically to help this little girl and there was a good chance that she wouldn't even survive past his graduation date.

Fuck, was all he thought. Fuck.

"Pray, maybe?" he answered, putting a hand on Roger's shoulder. "Things could be a lot different in a day or two."

"Yeah. She could be dead. Shit, Mimi and I hadn't even agreed on a name. She can't just be 'Baby Girl Davis,' can she?"

"So, go back to Mimi's room and talk about a name. She deserves one."

Roger leaned back in his chair, shaking his head. "Mimi's still out of it from that stuff they gave her for the pain."

"Morphine." Mimi had suffered some pretty bad tearing during delivery. Mark knew if wasn't life threatening, but she did need quite a few stitches.

"Yeah," Roger answered. "She hasn't really seen her yet, you know."

"I know." Mark wasn't sure what else to do at this point. Trying to sugarcoat didn't seem fair or true, and he wished he could offer more reassurance. Wished that he could say "it will be okay" like he had when Roger had been in the middle of detox after April. But that had been different; he had truly believed Roger could and would get over the hump. Here he didn't have such strong belief that everything would turn around.

Not fair. Life was never fair.

He just convinced Roger to go back to Mimi and promised to call Joanne and Maureen to let know what was up. After watching Roger disappear down the corridor outside of the neo-natal ICU, he'd slumped down on a bench. Staring at nothing until a voice interrupted his thoughts.

"You forgot to call in."

Kara. He'd forgotten he'd left her at the loft when he'd taken the subway to meet Roger and Mimi.

"I'm sorry. What time is it?"

Kara slowly lowered herself down on the bench next to him, taking a moment to adjust her weight. "It's just after 5:30. I called in for you. When you didn't call, I figured you might not make it to work. Family emergency."

"Thanks," he said softly.

"I'm sorry, Mark." He turned to look at her, watching as she subconsciously laid a hand on her stomach. He suddenly remembered that Kara was 26 weeks along. Would their child be in as much trouble if he were born two weeks from now?

Their child. He shook his head. When had he actually admitted that?

"Respiratory Distress Syndrome," he said. "For starters. She's jaundiced, and..." he trailed off. "She tested positive at birth."

"That doesn't mean that she really is."

He sighed. "I know."

"How's Mimi?"

"Out of it on morphine. She hasn't really had a chance to see the baby yet. They rushed her away after birth and Mimi had some extensive tearing that needed to be stitched." He noticed how clinical his voice sounded, how detached. He wanted to blame that on medical school, but knew he couldn't. He'd used filming to detach himself from situations like this a long time ago.

This time, however, his camera was at home. He'd planned on filming the birth for Roger and Mimi and he had been sure this was false labor.

"What's her name?" Kara was making small talk, he knew. Trying to distract him.

"They haven't decided yet. Kara, Mimi was 28 weeks and you're-"

"26 weeks," Kara finished. "I know. We need to talk about this."

He nodded. "We need to buy a crib."

She let out a little laugh. "Okay, not where I was going to start, but you're right." She took his hand, lopping her fingers in between his. "What are we?"

"I don't know," he answered honestly. They were dating, seeing movies, enjoying the company of each other. And also having a baby. Something had to change. "Do you want to move into the loft? Two cribs would be expensive."

He avoided the real issue, not realizing that the statement he'd made perhaps revealed more about his own feelings then he'd care to admit.

"Okay." She squeezed his hand. "Mark, I..." she trailed off.

They were perhaps more alike than he'd thought. The sentence hung in the air. So he did the only thing he could. He pulled her closer and kissed her.

When he broke the kiss off, they sat another couple of minutes in silence, each staring out on the corridor, watching the bustle of the hospital.

"I'm going to go see Mimi," he said finally, getting up. He fished into the pocket of his jeans, pulling his well-worn house key and handed it Kara.

"Make a copy. Buy a crib."

Kara took the key and he helped to her feet as she shifted her weight to account for her growing stomach. "Those are two things I can manage." The words 'for now' hung in the air. "I'll get some flowers for Mimi, too."

He watched her walk away a moment before turning in the other direction. For once, he didn't question what he'd just done.


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N: **Two chapters in within two days! I haven't done that in while...

* * *

The crib was delivered two days later, the same day Mimi was released from the hospital. The baby, however, was still in ICU, fighting for her life.

Mimi and Roger had decided to name the baby Angela, or Angel for short. Mark hoped that the original Angel was smiling at the sentiment.

Baby Angel hadn't improved in the last couple of days, but she hadn't gotten any worse either. When Mark had chatted up the pediatrician, revealing his own residency plans in a few months, he found himself privy to a little more inside information. The pediatrician hadn't expected the baby to make it forty-eight hours. Forty-eight hours later and she was holding on.

Watching Roger and Mimi visit their daughter was something Mark knew had to be filmed. There was a change in Mimi he'd expected; she was a mom, protective and wearing the same worried expression he'd seen on many of the faces of mothers with very ill children. But Roger...

With Roger there was a change he couldn't quite describe. Roger was in complete awe of his daughter. His initial negativity had dampened, as if he'd realized that this tiny person was alive and was staying that way.

"She's still here," he said, arms wrapped around Mimi as they peered together past the wires and tubing that almost totally engulfed the two and half pound infant.

"She is," Mimi agreed. Mark felt like a trespasser on their moment and took his cue to blend into the background, like the observer he'd always been.

Kara officially moved out of her apartment a week later, leaving unlabeled boxes scattered in her wake. Both of them were working odd and long hours as graduation approached, although Kara managed to get a lighter schedule when she hit thirty-two weeks (how Mark didn't how a clue). Complete time off was discussed, but she was determined to finish her rotation so that she'd graduate and start her cardiac residency on time. Kara was due two weeks before she and Mark would graduate. The timing oddly worked out.

During that week of box stacking, Angel remained stable. Stable gave some hope, though Mark held his breath for a major setback. When it came to Roger and Mimi, there was always a setback, it seemed.

Instead, Angel turned the corner.

"It's what I'd call a miracle," the pediatrician said to Mark when he'd pulled her aside. Little Angel was off the respirator. Despite all the tubing, Mimi and Roger were going to get a chance to hold her for the first time.

"A miracle?" he said. "No medical explanation?"

The doctor shook her head. "Sometimes you just don't have one. And you'll learn, when that happens you just don't ask. You just say thank you."

Thank you with no explanation for why. Just like the Christmas Eve when Maureen and Joanne found Mimi in the park, shivering and begging to brought to the loft. Mark had expected to watch her die in Roger's arm and for a few frantic moments, it she was like she had.

But she didn't in the end. In the end he'd witnessed something that most people would call a miracle, or at the very least, a leap of faith.

Mimi had a guardian Angel, in every sense of the word. And now it appeared that Angel that also kept an eye out for her namesake.

"She's not completely out of the woods, of course," the doctor continued. "But she's breathing on her own and gained 2 ounces this week. She's still testing positive, and there is a good chance she is. But this year, we've had two two-year-olds that had been testing positive since birth, suddenly test negative."

"Some hope, then?" he asked.

The pediatrician shrugged. "Between you and me, who knows? Let us get her closer to full-term birth weight and then you start thinking about her future."

Her future. He liked those words. Those words meant he could help. In between everything, he never let that thought leave his mind. Precious free hours were spent scouring the university library for the latest publications on pediatric HIV, but so little was really one hundred percent known. New things were being discovered day by day, opening the possibility of a future that didn't exist even two years ago. He studied some old footage he'd taken from clinic with Andy, where HIV-infected children were mixed in with their HIV-positive parents. He was looking for more, more answers to help that were beneath the surface of even more questions.

Angel was getting closer to being what would be considered full term development. Graduation was just around the corner.

Kara was getting bigger and bigger.

"I hate Lamaze," Kara said, flopping herself down on the well worn blankets that covered Mark's bed. Well, flopped herself down as well her belly would allow. She absently grabbed hold of one of the blankets, rolling it between her fingers. "These have seen better days. We should find the box with my bedding in it."

Mark sat down next to her, a steaming cup of coffee in his hands. Exhausted, he'd spent the last sixteen hours at two different hospitals, splitting time between work, baby Angel, and Kara's first Lamaze class. "If you'd labeled your boxes, I'd know which one to dig through."

Kara waved a hand at him. "I usually label, this time I just packed. There were more pressing things going on. By the way, did you hear me? I hate Lamaze. We're not going back."

Mark almost laughed at her statement. "Well, I hate the amount you pay Lamaze classes, so you want to quit, go ahead. Just don't bite my head off when you're in labor."

"I won't need Lamaze. I'm having an epidural. And your camera is staying home for that, by the way." She sighed. "Crap. Do you what we sound like?"

"No, I don't. What do we sound like?" He took a sip of his coffee, making a face at the bitterness. He'd learned coffee's effects were better when he drank it black, but he'd yet to get used to it. In fact, he'd really yet to get used to coffee. He was more of a tea drinker.

"We sound like..." She trailed off, sighing again. "How's Angel today?"

The change in subject steered them both away from the conversation they'd been avoiding since Mark handed over his key.

"Nearing four pounds, if you can believe it. She eats as much as a drunk Roger, which happens to work for her at the moment. She may get to come home soon rather than later, actually. Maureen is planning Mimi's belated baby shower so she and Roger will have everything they need to take her home."

"Maureen? Isn't that your ex?"

"My ex who is a lesbian," he pointed out. "You met her. She likes you."

"That's good, I guess. I've just never been friends with an ex. Pete and I avoided each other like the plague. Too much baggage."

"Well, in case you haven't noticed, all my friends have baggage." He set down his coffee mug. "I have baggage. Or, should I say, we have baggage."

Kara appeared to contemplate the thought before answering. "We do." Kara shifted her weight to look up at him. "Speaking of baggage, when I was here this morning, I accidentally picked up the phone without screening. It was your mom."

Mark was glad he'd sat his cup down otherwise he'd drop it. "My mom? And without screening? I always screen."

"Well, I don't. She wanted to know about graduation." Kara paused a moment. "She thought I was Mimi. I thought you told your parents." She sounded hurt.

His parents. He was always evading his mother's phone calls, and hadn't really reached out that often in the past year to appease her. Things between him and his dad felt even odder after he'd spend a week at his father's practice. And watching his own work footage reinforced how much he wanted to avoid his issues with the man.

The last time he'd spoken to his mother, she babbled on about Cindy's due date.

He hadn't told them a damn thing about Kara and their impending grandchild, due two weeks before Cindy's third child was.

"Kara, I..." He took off his glasses, rubbing at his temples as he felt the beginnings of a headache.

Kara pushed herself off the bed into a sitting position. "You didn't tell them. You met my parents."

"Not by choice," he reminded her. "Kara, I don't have the same relationship with my parents that you have with yours. You admit you need your parents in your life and I accept that. Accept that it isn't going to be that way on my end."

She pulled his hands down from his face, holding them in her lap. Mark looked up her, glad he wasn't able to completely make out her features without his glasses. She was pissed he was sure.

He didn't want her to be pissed. After all, she was his...

Actually, what was she?

"I accept it," Kara said. "Because I need *you* in my life."

Mark blinked. "What?"

"You heard me," she said. "I can't say it again." Her words were soft. "Can you accept that about me?"

He released his hands from her grip, found his glasses and slipped them back on so he could really look at her. For a moment, he just stared at her.

"I " His mouth was suddenly dry, his heart beating faster and faster. He hadn't been this flustered since Maureen and that was years ago.

This was even far more complicated than Maureen.

"I love you," he finally managed to get out, shocking himself at the words. He didn't expect to hear them repeated and therefore wasn't surprised when they weren't. Kara had already gone as far as she could in the moment. She just gave him a smile and leaned in to kiss him gently on the lips.

"You *will* tell your parents about the baby eventually right? I can't avoid the phone forever."

He nodded. "I'll call my mother back in the morning." He wasn't looking forward to it, but he'd do it.

"Thank you." Kara pushed herself off the bed and walked away, leaving Mark alone with his thoughts.


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N: ** Three chapters in a week! I hope people are still reading this...As always, feedback adored.

* * *

Normal baby clothes weren't going to fit Angel, so Maureen took it upon herself to find one of the few baby boutiques in New York City that carried a preemie-line. It wasn't cheap of course, but Maureen said Joanne could afford it.

Oddly enough, Maureen changed when little Angel arrived as well. One rare evening that Mark had off, he'd grabbed his camera and dropped by Roger and Mimi's apartment to find that Maureen had made chicken-noodle soup for Mimi. Maureen talked about how she'd read a recipe in Julia Child's cookbook.

"You own 'Mastering the Art of French Cooking'?" Mark asked, staring at the bowl in front of him. It looked incredibly appetizing. He knew Maureen baked - and was pretty good at it - when the occasion called for it, but he had no clue she'd expanded her cooking horizons. Maureen was the best cook when she lived at the loft, but that didn't take much when he, Roger, and Collins were the only competition.

"You know it is called 'Mastering the Art of French Cooking?'" Roger countered back Mark's way.

"Everyone but you Roger probably knows it's called 'Mastering the Art of French Cooking,'" Maureen shot back. "My last audition didn't go as well, and Joanne's been working long hours, and the woman at the bookstore recommended it...forget it! Do you and Mimi like the soup or not?"

"It's amazing, Maureen. Thank you for bringing it over," Mimi said, picking up her own empty bowl into the sink. "Roger and I can't cook for shit, so I'm happy bottles don't need a recipe." She returned to her chair at the second-hand kitchen table she and Roger had found at a nearby thrift store. "I can't believe that she's finally coming home tomorrow. I don't know if I'm ready for her to come home. She's still so tiny."

"You're ready," Mark told her. "They wouldn't let her come home if you weren't."

"I guess so," Mimi reluctantly agreed. Roger reached across the table, squeezing her hand.

"You're not alone, baby. There are two of us."

"Yeah, but I'll be alone when you're at your gigs," Mimi countered. "And she's so small and-"

"And you have us," Mark pointed out.

"You have you own baby to worry about soon." Crap, yes there was that, he thought.

Mimi sighed. "I guess I'm just a little freaked out."

"Well, I don't have a baby," Maureen pointed out. "And Joanne's partner at her firm now. Her caseload sucks. I earned all my money babysitting in high school."

Roger raised an eyebrow at that, shooting a look Mark's way. Mark just laughed.

"It's true. She did."

"Everyone in Scarsdale wanted me to watch their kids. I *can* be responsible," Maureen defended.

Mark just shook his head. "Roger is just going by your track record in New York City, Mo. He didn't have the pleasure of knowing you in Scarsdale."

"Shit, Scarsdale. Thankfully, that feels like a million years ago." Maureen was quiet for a minute. "Speaking of Scarsdale, did you finally tell your mom about the baby?"

"How did you know I hadn't told my mom about the baby?" He knew the answer before he'd finished asking the question. Maureen was the queen at figuring out information she wasn't privy to. She hated being left out.

"Kara."

"Maureen... " The idea of Maureen alone in a room with Kara made him fairly uncomfortable, given the fact that Kara was still surprised that he and Maureen were able to maintain a tight friendship.

He'd known Maureen since was he was five and they'd experienced nearly all their firsts together, even if she did stomp on his heart more than once. Once they'd cooled their romance and Maureen finally settled on her sexuality, they'd discovered that they'd been through too much not to be friends.

"Hey, if you and Joanne can be so chummy, it is only fair that I can be friendly with Kara. Besides, you may need some help with Mark Junior, you know."

"Mark Junior?" Mimi smiled. "Do you and Kara know if it's a boy or girl?"

Kara hadn't wanted to know, but the curse of being near the end of medical school meant that the second she and Mark looked at the sonogram, they both knew.

"It's a boy," he confirmed. "But his name will not be Mark Junior. And my mom, well, she's actually excited."

Excited about the baby, yes. Not excited about his and Kara's non-existent plans to get married. The conversation had gone much better than he'd thought it would, given that he'd opened up the phone call with "Hi, Mom. I met a girl. No, she's not Jewish. Oh, and we're having a baby. In three weeks. I heard you and dad want to come to graduation."

He didn't talk to his dad. He figured his mother was the best person to pass along the news.

"Your mom would be excited. She'd be excited that you actually called her," Roger pointed out. "She's the reason we screened all calls at the loft."

"Well, her messages were a wonderful reminder about how being broke, freezing, and starving were still better than sitting through the beyond awkward dinners with her, dad, Cindy and her kids."

"We're not totally broke and starving anymore, though. I still can't believe that the Life Cafe was willing to give Mimi maternity leave so she wouldn't quit. I mean, she isn't a very good waitress-"

"Hey!" Mimi shouted, swatting Roger on the shoulder.

He looked at her. "It's true! That ass is what gets you tips."

"Tips that help pay our rent," she defended.

"True. And it gives us health insurance," Roger continued. "That period we had to wait before it covered mine and Mimi's AZT sucked, but almost all of Angel's hospital bill is being covered. I can't believe it."

"We'll be able to pay your premiums, Mark, when you graduate," Mimi put in, after giving Roger another playful swat.

Mark shrugged. "What premiums? I'll never charge you guys a dime."

"But AZT costs money," Mimi countered. "And Angel..." She trailed off suddenly as if reality had just smacked in the face. "She's really positive, isn't she?" While Mimi's question was directed to the entire kitchen, her brown eyes shifted directly to Mark's blue ones.

"I don't know, Meems," he answered, using Roger's nickname for her to soften the blow. He hadn't a clue what Angel's future was. For now, she was alive, improving. She'd be on medication, treated like she was positive. He didn't have the heart to say that HIV positive children rarely saw age five.

But times were changing. He'd do everything possible to make sure they did.

"HIV-negative babies born to HIV-infected mothers could test positive for antibodies until they are eighteen months old. If your insurance covers it, there may be more extensive testing for the virus itself, but it isn't perfect and it is expensive," he admitted. He tried giving Mimi the most reassuring smile he could muster. "She's doing really well, you know."

"I know. She's coming home," Mimi agreed. She shook head slightly, as if she were trying to clear it. Roger reached out to squeeze her hand again. Mark absently stirred his spoon in the bowl of soup in front of him.

"There's more soup," Maureen pointed and the tension in the room immediately shifted as Roger handed his empty bowl her way.

"What's your dad think about the baby, Mark?" Mimi asked softly, changing the subject. Besides Maureen, who'd experienced Dr. Cohen firsthand herself, Mimi was probably the only other one that knew his currently complicated relationship with his father. Roger and he might be best friends, but they also knew what topics to avoid. Roger did not talk about his dad, so Mark never volunteered much about his dad in return. Instead, they shared a strong dislike for their respective fathers, although Mark had a feeling Roger's father wasn't just a cold man.

"I haven't talked to him," he admitted. "He's coming to my graduation next month, though. It means I can't skip out on it like I had hoped I could."

"Skip out on it? Why would you want to do that?" Maureen asked, startling him when she put a hand on his shoulder. She handed Roger back his bowl with other and then looped her arms completely around his neck in a sign of affection that would have Joanne sighing if she were there. Mark shifted uncomfortably before untangling himself from Maureen's grasp.

"Because graduation is stupid." It was. He didn't need to hear his name announced for his plan to move forward. Of course that wasn't the real reason and he knew it. He sighed. "But my father paid the bills and he wants to see me march across a stage and collect my diploma in front of hundreds of people."

"That's a lame excuse," Roger shot back. "It's the hundreds of people shit that has you running in the opposite direction. You hate being the center of attention, even if it is only for two minutes."

Maureen pulled out the last remaining chair from the table and sat down next to Mark, propping her head up but tucking her hand under her chin. "Roger's right, Mark. Benny told me you ditched the graduation ceremony at Brown."

"So did Benny," he pointed out. He and Benny had spent that day loading up Benny's piece of crap car for a one-way drive to New York City.

"Not for the same reason you did."

He turned his eyes down to the table. "Can we just drop this? My parents are coming and I'm going."

"Damn, Mark, I know I said this was crap when you started, but you made it. Least you can do is be proud of that fact." Mark was surprised to hear those words come from Roger's mouth. What had being a parent really done for him?

"You need it on film, too, you know," Mimi pointed out. "An end, right?"

An end. He mulled those words over. The goal he'd had almost four years ago, when Mimi was coughing on the couch at the loft and Collins was alive. Before conflicting conversations with his father and struggles within himself. Before babies. Before Kara.

"It isn't the end," he said. "It's just the beginning."


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N: ** Dramatic license taken, of course. I've been watching too much TLC lately :). Feedback, as always, is appreciated by myself and the muse.

* * *

Kara went into labor during sex.

Well, more accurately, right after they were done. Sure, he'd read about it helping. But he didn't believe it. There was no medical evidence to prove that sex started labor.

Kara, however, did seem to believe in its powers.

He'd opened the loft door to find her waiting. She'd finished her last rotation early, leaving her a couple of weeks before her due date. But Kara simply wasn't that patient.

"He needs to get out. We're having sex. Now."

He was dragged toward the bedroom before he could even put his bag down. Kara wasn't usually this forceful and he'd wondered if the time she'd been spending with Maureen was a factor

He really didn't have much time to consider that as Kara yanked at his zipper. She meant business.

Not that he was really complaining, of course.

In the end, he was still trying to catch his breath when he'd heard an "ow."

He propped himself up on one elbow, turning to simply stare at her. He blinked. "Seriously?"

She looked at surprised as he did, which he found strange since she was the one that seemed so sure that sex would lead to labor.

"I'm not sure. Maybe it's just a cramp." She pushed herself up, rubbing at her back. "An intense and stabbing cramp."

"An intense and stabbing cramp?" he repeated. "I doubt it. You were the one convinced that sex would lead to contractions. Where did you get that idea anyway?"

"Maureen read about it on of those magazines she always has," Kara admitted. "She brought it over the other day."

"You went on a tip from *Maureen*?" He wondered again why Maureen was so intent on being best friends with Kara. Payback for his friendship with Joanne, he supposed.

"Not just Maureen. My OB, two colleagues, and six nurses from the maternity ward swore by it."

He just shook his head and sat up fully, taking a moment to straighten his glasses. For whatever reason, they'd stayed on and he hadn't noticed. Was Kara that fast or was he simply loosing touch?

He ignored that thought and scanned the room for his pants. Kara had thrown them somewhere…bingo! He found them on the floor, just beside the bed.

"I'll go find my watch," he told her. "See if you're really in labor."

Three hours later, they were in a cab, stuck in New York City rush hour traffic. Of course, Mark mused as he gazed out the window. Just like the movies. He turned on his camera, poised to point it out the window and perhaps narrate on the predicament, when Kara yanked both his hand and his attention. She had her eyes squeezed tight, trying her best to breathe.

"Kara, maybe you should—"

"If you mention anything about Lamaze, I will kill you with my bare hands," she said. "How long has it been since the last one?"

He glanced at his watch. "Three minutes." He almost did a double-take as soon the words left his mouth. "Shit."

"Shit, indeed." Kara opened her eyes and laid her head back against the cab's seat, letting out a long sigh. "We are still more than 20 blocks away. Why is this happening so fast? No one said sex meant fast. I just wanted sex to mean out and out when we're at the hospital, after I've had an epidural."

"You're probably just in active labor," he pointed out. "You and I both know that can last a few hours."

Kara just shook her head. "I'm not in active labor, Mark." She closed her eyes again, biting her lip. "Here's another one. Time me."

Mark kept his eye on the second hand on his watch. Without looking up, he asked, "What do you mean you're not in active labor?"

Kara didn't answer, just grabbed his hand and squeezed. The strength of her grip startled him and he almost lost track of his watch hand.

Kara finally let out a long breath, her eyes still closed. "How long?"

"65 seconds," he told her, realizing he'd answered his own question. "You feel like you need to push, don't you?"

Kara opened her eyes. "Yes," she admitted, voice strained.

In the front seat, Mark heard the cabbie turn around. "Oh no. No babies in my cab."

Wonderful. Just like the movies indeed.

"I'm trying very hard to not let that happen if you could just pay attention to the traffic and get us the hell out of here," Kara shot back at the driver through gritted teeth. "Mark, please tell me you got to deliver a baby or two during your OB rotation. Because I had the supervisor from hell that didn't seem to understand the meaning of the words 'hands on learning.""

"I delivered a baby," he confirmed. "It just wasn't—"

"Ours?" Kara finished, swallowing. "I seriously feel like I need to push. But I wasn't dilated enough before we got in the cab. I was sure of it."

"That was over an hour ago. I didn't check." A tinge of panic crept into his voice.

"Well, check now," Kara pleaded. "It's not like you didn't have your face down in that general area earlier."

"More than I needed to know, folks!" the cabbie injected.

"Just drive!" Kara told him. She started to scoot her back towards the passenger door, lifting her legs onto the seat.

Mark swallowed, feeling his heart beat in his chest. He moved his camera off the seat, half aware that it was still rolling from when he'd been ready to shoot before, but ignored it. He took a deep breath, lifted up Kara's skirt.

Shit, shit, shit.

"You're 10 centimeters, alright," he admitted. "I can see the head."

The cabbie rolled down his window at those words and was cursing at top volume at the traffic, screaming out for a cop.

Mark took another deep breath and met Kara's eyes. She gave him a tight smile. "This hurts like hell," she sing-songed, her voice laced with false cheerfulness.

"You need to push" was his response, though he noted how his hands were slightly shaking.

She paled. "Oh my God, I'm really going to give birth in a taxi cab, aren't I?"

Kara wasn't going to be the calm one. He had to be the calm one. Despite the fact that his palms were sweating, hands were still shaking, and his heart was about to beat out of his chest. He was going to become a father by his own hand – literally.

Shit, shit, shit. This wasn't a sterile environment. There was supervisor around and he was still a couple of weeks shy of graduating, and…

…the baby didn't give a crap about any of those things. He had to get a grip. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his camera, heard the film spinning.

"Close on Mark's nose dive," he muttered under his breath, thinking about the last time he'd used those words. "Will he get out of this alive?"

He took another deep breath. Time to take control, stop shaking. Do what he fundamentally knew how to do. Easy, right? "You to push, Kara," he repeated, giving her as confident a smile as he could muster. "On the count of three, okay? One."

"This cannot be happening."

"Two."

"Fuck, it hurts…"

"Three."

What happened in the next five minutes was a blur and he'd swear he'd been on autopilot. In fact, it was only when he'd retrieved his camera a couple of hours after Kara the baby were admitted into the hospital that he'd realized he'd unknowingly gotten the entire thing on film.

He'd felt like he was watching a different person.

He'd delivered his son.

His fucking son. A fact that didn't hit him until he'd felt a tap on his shoulder from a traffic cop whose attention the cabbie had finally managed to get. There was an ambulance on the way and he was sitting there, holding a screaming, slimy baby boy.

Six pounds, eleven ounces. Ten fingers, ten toes. Blue eyes and the tiniest tuff of white blond hair. And one healthy set of lungs, judging from the crying fit he was currently having in the middle of the nursery, kicking his little legs back and forth as fast as he could.

"Mark!" He looked from the nursery window just in time for Maureen to thrust an "It's a Boy!" balloon into his hand.

"We stopped by the gift shop," Joanne explained, a few paces behind Maureen. "Congratulations."

"You're a dad!" Maureen proclaimed, and stopped to fish through her purse. "Joanne thought we were spending too much time in the gift shop, so I only managed to find three cards." She pressed two of them into his hands. "The last one is for Kara specifically," she explained.

"Maureen, I don't need any cards."

Maureen just shrugged and Joanne laughed. "Think that will stop her?"

"No," he admitted.

"Which one is he?" Maureen was peering into the nursery, her eyes scanning the rows of newborns. "Never mind, I found him. You named him Thomas." She smiled wistfully. "Collins would like that."

Mark nodded. The second he and Kara had discovered they were having a boy, he didn't want to name him anything else. Thankfully, Kara understood and happened to really like the name. She'd told him of its significance in the Catholic Church. St. Thomas the apostle was the patron saint of those in doubt.

Mark had almost laughed. Collins had certainly given some great advice to those in doubt, himself included. He just hoped that somewhere Collins appreciated the sentiment as much as he was sure Angel appreciated her legacy in the Davis household.

"He's got your hair, Mark." As Maureen spoke, she reached up briefly running her fingers though his hair. "How's Kara?"

"Tired."

"I'll bet." Joanne joined Maureen, staring through the glass. "I assume you called Roger and Mimi?"

He nodded. "A little while ago. Though for some reason, Mimi seemed to know that Kara had had the baby…"

"Because you were on the news!"

He turned at the announcement, finding Mimi, with Angel in tow and Roger not far behind her. Mimi's body swayed with the excitement. Angel didn't like the moment and kicked her little foot out in protest.

"The news?" How did he get on the news?

Mimi nodded. "I was watching it at home and there you were. You delivered your baby in a taxi and you don't remember taking to the lady from channel 4?"

"I was kinda distracted. What do you mean the lady from chan-oh crap." She was that woman reporting on the traffic and was nosy as hell, scurrying over after cop arrived and the ambulance was on the way. He vaguely remembered the microphone in his face when the paramedics were readying Kara and the baby for transport. Had he even said anything coherent?

Mimi seemed to read his thoughts. "You were dazed, but didn't say anything stupid."

"Or more stupid than usual," Roger piped in, causing Mimi to gently swat his back.

"You know," Mimi continued. "I think the last time any of us were on the news was-"

"Maureen's protest that Christmas," Mark finished. "Though I doubt Kara isn't going to be as pleased with the exposure as you were, Maureen."

"Any exposure is good exposure," Maureen reasoned.

"Not when you're in labor," Mimi replied. "You look and feel like shit. Luckily it was only Mark on camera." Angel let out a wail as if she were agreeing. Mimi sighed. "She's so fussy lately. You take her, Roger."

"Fussy is better than puking," Roger told her as he took Angel from Mimi's arms. The baby instantly settled, her cries forgotten. Mimi sighed again.

"That just isn't fair, you know. And it is spit up, not puke."

"I have the magic touch," Roger simply said, letting Angel reach out and grip his finger. "And it came out of her mouth after she swallowed it. That is the definition of puke. Calling it spit up does not make it any different."

Mark watched the entire interaction through a second set of eyes. Angel had certainly changed Mimi and Roger. Roger looked like a natural with the way he cradled Angel is his arms. Angel only had eyes for her father, gurgling happily.

The only reason Mark knew how to hold a baby was because of his OB rotation. He'd been told he was a natural and he was about to embark on a career mode that would forever put him in the company of people under eighteen, but this didn't even compare.

"Christ, I'm really a dad now," he said, as if the light bulb had finally gone off in his brain.

Roger simply grinned, patting Mark on the back. "Yeah, you are. Welcome to the club, Mark."

"Club," he muttered. His life was forever going to change, he knew. And it was a different kind of change than the one he'd been anticipating for the past four years.

You can't be broke, starving, and freezing forever. He remembered his conversion with Collin almost three years ago outside the Life. Joanne had just made partner and he'd lamented about the time it took for Roger to shake his stubbornness and accept the fact Mark was staying in school until he graduated. Collin's words echoed.

"_He has to grow up. We all think we can continue like this forever, but we can't."_

We can't, he mused. Collins couldn't and proved it when his health had failed. Angel's early arrival and uncertain future had forever changed Roger and Mimi. Joanne embraced success. Even Maureen appeared to settle a bit.

Things couldn't stay the same forever.

"I want a baby. Joanne, let's have a baby!"

Well, he thought, as he caught Joanne's gaze, maybe some things were better off not changing.


	24. Chapter 24

**A/N: **_I have an ending in sight, I think! But we're still a few chapters from it as there are two major plot twists I need to get in before I get there. Oh, and another plea for feedback…if you're reading/enjoying this novel, let me know! It only takes a minute :)._

_Medical stuff researched via a few medical internet sites. Fanfiction dot net doesn't appear to allow links, but hopefully I've explained enough in the text._

_Oh, and if anyone is curious about timelines, this story first started post-film timeline (though it really borrows from both film and stage), so 1991ish, meaning it is roughly 1996 now._

* * *

"Mark, he's precious!"

He cringed at his mother's excitement as she cooed at the baby. He hadn't wanted to call her mainly because he knew she'd immediately get in the car and drive into the city. He wasn't disappointed.

He was surprised that she'd brought his father, though. Kara had given birth on a Wednesday and he called her on Thursday morning, meaning his father most likely had to cancel appointments in order to make the drive with her.

His father never canceled patient appointments.

"He looks like you," his mother continued. "Your hair was exactly this shade when you were born, you know."

Mark just rolled his eyes and gave Kara a tight smile, silently apologizing with his eyes. While Kara may have spoken on the phone with his mother, she'd never had the immense pleasure of meeting his parents and she'd had little time to prepare for that fact when he'd arrived in her room with the news that his mother was driving in.

Kara's parents had the good grace to wait until tomorrow, at least. Mark wasn't looking forward to that. Kara's father had thankfully recovered since his angina attack and was civil towards Mark, but civil did not mean he liked Mark.

The feeling was mutual, of course.

"We were sorry we missed you on the news, Mark." His mother didn't lift her gaze from the newborn. She was glowing. Had she looked this giddy when held one of Cindy's kids? Then again, he hadn't been around so soon after Cindy had given birth to observe. "But Mrs. Henderson next door had a blank tape in her VCR, so she recorded part of it."

Great, just great. "Not necessary, mom." His voice sounded every bit as unexcited as he felt.

Kara, forever the good sport, injected. "I'd like to see it if you can guarantee I'm not in it, Mrs. Cohen."

"Katherine," his mother immediately corrected. "And any good reporter should know to stay away until you're looking presentable again. You are, however, very lucky with the short labor, all things considered. With Mark, I was in labor for sixteen hours-"

Oh, no. Not the story of his birth. He desperately searched for a hole to crawl into.

"Katherine. I think Mark's embarrassed enough." Mark blinked at the sound of his father's voice. They'd been here almost twenty minutes and aside from a short greeting, his father hadn't said two words.

His mother just smiled. "Well, Mark had a big head. I'll just say that."

For once, Mark was grateful that he'd run out of film for his camera this morning.

"Cindy said she's going to try and get down here this afternoon, I think," his mom continued. "She's about ready to pop herself, you know. Though she's having a girl."

His mother meant well with her friendly chatter, but each moment just made Mark feel uncomfortable.

"A girl, huh?" Kara asked. "Mark told me he already has two nieces."

"He does. They were hoping for a boy, but I suppose they will have to just try again." The cheerful tone of his mother's voice was slowly eating at his brain. He closed his eyes.

Then ended up opening them again when he felt a tug at his arm.

"I need some coffee and I think Mark could use some as well. Would either of you like anything from the cafeteria?"

His father, speaking up yet again.

Mark froze. "Coffee?" he muttered. "Um, Dad…I don't think I should leave…" He tried to find a tactful way to phrase "Kara alone and unarmed with Mom" but wasn't sure there was one.

Kara appeared to read his thought process. "I'm fine, Mark. Your mother and I will be just fine. Would love a Hersey bar from the vending machine, though. The one with-"

"Almonds. I know."

She rubbed his arm reassuringly. "Thanks. Go."

"Okay," he said reluctantly and followed his father from the room, wondering what the hell he was going to talk to the man about during the time it took to get coffee.

It turned out, perhaps, that his father was thinking the very same thing.

"The news footage was nice," his father said as he pushed the down button for the elevator.

"Um, thanks," he muttered, not sure what else to say. He had to admit, he'd really not spent much time alone with his father since the week he'd spent working with in Scarsdale and felt like forever ago.

"How's the practice?" he continued, trying his very best to make small talk.

"It's good."

The elevator door opened, thankfully halting their awkward conversation for a few minutes. In fact, there were no further attempts until Mark was sitting down, absently stirring his coffee despite the fact that he hadn't even added anything else but coffee to the cup.

"Andy told me you picked pediatrics. Matched at New-York Presbyterian."

"I did. I, um, meant to tell you."

His father paused to sip at his own coffee. "I know." He put his hands around his cup, gently rapping his fingers against it in a gesture Mark swore was familiar.

Then he realized why. He was currently doing the exact same thing with his coffee cup. He immediately dropped his hands to the tabletop.

He wasn't his father.

He wasn't…

"Look, Mark." There was a slight intake of breath and Mark recognized the serious tone. He braced himself. What for, he wasn't 100% sure.

"Are you still filming?"

That was unexpected.

"Um…yeah. Why?" His father had to have an ulterior motive, right?

"Good," his father answered, nodding. "Life can't just pay the bills."

"No, it can't," Mark agreed. "Dad, what the hell are you getting at?"

His father appeared to ignore the question. "Your mother still has the tape, you know. Of that riot footage from Christmas Eve…what was it? Five years ago?"

Mark nodded. "Yeah, it was five years ago."

"I never told you, but it was good stuff."

Mark raised an eyebrow. "You wait until you're visiting me after the birth of my son to tell me this? Dad, you hated my filming. You were never excited about my life choices until I came home with the news that I'd taken the MCAT. I just don't…"

"Understand?" his father finished. "Your children rarely do. You make life choices that you hope will provide the best for them, even if means they grow up to hate you. Even if you find yourself wondering if they were the right choices at all." He met Mark's eyes, gaze unwavering. Mark immediately squirmed, as it was the same intense glare he hated growing up. The one he'd always seen right before he'd heard the words "you're doing what, Mark? Do you know what that means for your future?"

His father just shook his head. "You'll understand that principle someday." He pushed his chair away from the table and lifted his cup. "I think we've left Kara alone with your mother long enough."

"Yeah." As if on autopilot, he got up, followed his father.

He had absolutely no clue what had just happened.

* * *

Two days later, Mark still contemplated his father's words, but they'd were mixed in with the various other curve balls life decided to throw.

He brought Kara and Tom home to a burglarized loft. Nothing of importance had really been taken, as he and Kara didn't have too much of importance to begin with, save an antique ring from Kara's grandmother. Kara was pretty upset at its lost, understandably.

The crib had also been destroyed.

Roger came over to try and see if the any of its pieces were worth rescuing.

"Wow, they really had it out for this place," he said when he surveyed the damage.

Mark sighed as he shut off his camera. The footage would be helpful, for once, as Kara had brought over her renter's insurance when she moved in. Not that the insurance could replace her grandmother's ring. He bent down and picked up the crib rail. "Think of the irony. When you lived here, we never had a break-in."

"That's because we never had anything worth shit and I think the whole neighborhood knew it." Roger studied the pile of crib in front of him. "I think this is beyond fixing, Mark."

Mark threw the rail back down, listening to the thud it made. "I figured."

"You know, the apartment below Mimi and I is up for rent. It's nicer then ours, but it is a three bedroom, which means it's out of our price range. But maybe you and Kara…"

"And leave the loft?" Leaving the loft really meant the end of an era and Mark wasn't sure he was ready for that.

Roger shrugged. "This place is a crap-hole. Cheap, but a crap-hole. The heat never works and the crime sucks with the man making drug transactions right below your window. Do you really want your kid living here?"

Mark just laughed. "I can't believe that Roger Davis is apparently giving me parenting advice."

Roger smirked. "I know. The world's ending, right?"

Mark gently kicked at the crib remains one more time. "Maybe. How did Angel's check-up go yesterday?"

"It went okay, though Mimi and I are counting the days until you graduate so you can take over her care. The guy at the clinic is an asshole and treats Mimi and I like we're the worst people ever since we decided to procreate and make Angel…" He trailed off and walked over to the metal table in the center of the room. It was sturdy as hell, and would always win against any robber. He leaned against it.

"Though sometimes I wonder if Mimi and I shouldn't have-"

"That's shit," Mark interrupted. "You said you and Mimi weren't even trying and-"

"I lied."

Mark frowned. "What?"

"I lied," Roger repeated. "It wasn't really an accident the second time. We were…you know, and we were out of condoms. Mimi thought it was the wrong time of the month to happen, but we both knew it still could. And it did."

Mark studied his friend, finding a hard time reading him. Then again, a lot of times Roger was hard to completely read. He'd express his feelings one way, yet really feel them another.

"So?" he asked. "You and Mimi want to return Angel, then?"

"Of course not."

"Look, there's still a chance that Angel might not be HIV positive. Right now it can only be confirmed that she's HIV antibody-seropositive. Her T-cell percentage and lymphocyte counts are still pretty good."

"I don't know what either of those things mean, Mark. Speak English."

"Sorry. Seropositive means her blood has HIV antibodies, but no HIV symptoms. She's dealing more with the aftereffects of being born premature right now, which is why she throws up so much."

"See? The asshole at the clinic doesn't tell Mimi or I any of this. He glared, mentioned something called GER-"

"Gastroesophageal Reflux," Mark supplied, frowning.

"Yeah, that," Roger confirmed. "He wanted to jam a tube down her throat for a day or two to measure something or other. She's barely three months old, Mark. Mimi said no and we left."

"He probably just wants to test the amount of acid in her esophagus," Mark explained, "It is done over a 24 hour period, usually in a hospital."

"See, there was nothing about a hospital." Roger paused a moment. "Shit. It is serious."

"Maybe, but probably not. Most kids outgrow it in a year or so when their esophagus gets longer. Since Angel was a preemie, her muscles didn't develop as strongly as they could. They will catch up. A lot of times, you just need to feed her different formula or make sure she sucks on a pacifier in between feedings. The sucking makes the stuff in her stomach stay put."

"Damn, Mark. That's why we want you to graduate."

Mark grinned. "Want me to graduate, huh? This coming from the guy that four years ago asked why the fuck I wanted to go to medical school?"

"I didn't have a kid, then," Roger simply said. Roger very rarely apologized. It was almost like sorry wasn't a word his brain ever let him utter. In fact, Mimi was the only one he ever used the word "I'm sorry" with.

"So," Roger continued. "You think you and Kara might want to look at the apartment in Brooklyn?"

"I don't know. Brooklyn?"

"It has a park. Maureen comes over to help out Mimi at night while I'm playing at the club. I'm sure she'd help you and Kara out."

"It's still not…" He trailed off, not wanting to finish the sentence.

"The loft?" Roger answered. Mark should have guessed Roger would understand. "I know."

The two of them were silent for a minute and Mark's gaze traveled towards the shattered club and scattered contents of the room. The couch was torn, the window broken, and the kitchen area was littered with strewn utensils.

"Brooklyn," he repeated. "I'll think about it."


	25. Chapter 25

_**A/N: **Update a little late as I was celebrating my b-day with my family this weekend. As always, feedback loved._

* * *

"May 21, 1996. Close on Mark, who finally has a sheet of paper that gives him the legal right to prescribe narcotics…"

"Roger, shut that off!"

"No way. And don't try and hide. Where's your diploma?"

Four years of classes and clinical rotations and Mark was done. And he'd actually managed to sit through the entire graduation ceremony, including the extremely loud "Yay, Mark!" Maureen had screamed when his name was announced. She was shameless about it later, of course. He'd expected nothing less really.

"Come on, Mark. Look at Kara. She's bragging."

Kara snaked a hand across Mark's back, waving her diploma. "Damn right. I paid a lot of money to get this thing and I think I might just show it to everyone I pass on the street today." She smiled brightly. "And Mark is hiding his behind his back." She yanked at it, catching him off-guard. She handed off her own diploma before flipping his open for Roger to film.

"Guys…" he protested.

"Give it up, pookie," Maureen told him, as she kissed him on the cheek. Kara was thankfully looking in the opposite direction and missed him blushing. He may be long over Maureen, but the woman could still easily make him blush. "We're just proud of you is all."

Joanne gave him a comforting pat. "Live it up, Mark," she said, gently bouncing Tom on her shoulder. Mark's mother had insisted on holding on to the baby during the ceremony and Mark had scooped him up and ran towards his friends the very first second he could. Tom had been passed between Maureen and Joanne, with the lawyer currently in possession.

"Because once you frame it, you kinda forget it exists, even when it is hanging on your office wall," she continued. "I've told you before, welcome to corporate America." Tom seemed to hate those words as much as Mark did and let out a wail. Mark reached out his arms and Joanne handed him over.

The baby settled, blinking his eyes at his father. "Just don't drool on the gown, okay? It's a rental."

Mimi laughed. "It doesn't matter if you ask, drool just happens." Angel gurgled in her arms, taking her spit covered fingers out of her mouth and promptly flinging said spit-covered fingers onto Mimi's dress. "See?" While balancing Angel with one arm, she reached into the diaper bag hanging from Roger's shoulder to retrieve a baby wipe. She dabbed at her shirt.

"Where are your parents?" she asked.

"Mingling with mine," Kara answered before he could. "I think I'm going to need a drink after all."

"Or ten of them," he muttered. "I owe my dad for life for paying for that." He shifted Tom's weight slightly and pointed to the diploma still in Roger's hands with his elbow.

Roger jerked Mark's camera up, still filming. "Nah. Benny paid for Mimi's rehab and we aren't about to owe him for the rest of our lives. Ever been to the Life Café, Kara?"

"No," Kara admitted, "But I've certainly heard enough about it. Mimi works there, right?"

"Right," he confirmed. "I'm sure Mark's told you about how he likes to dance on the tables there, then?"

"Um…no." She turned her face to his. "Leading a double life, huh?"

"Would you believe I'm a lightweight?" he said with a slight shrug.

"No, not for a minute after meeting your friends," she answered with a snort and leaned in to kiss him. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Roger approaching closer with his camera. He broke off the kiss to reach out and put his hand across the lens. Tom protested the action, squirming. Kara gently lifted him from Mark's arms.

"Show's over, Roger."

Roger just pushed Mark's hand away. "Nope. You always have this thing pointed at us. You can take the heat a little while longer." He handed Mark back his diploma. "Now hold it up proudly for all the folks at home, Dr. Cohen."

Dr. Cohen.

Shit.

His eyes scanned the reception room, falling directly on his father, who appeared to be in the middle of a discussion with Kara's mother.

His thoughts must have registered on his face, because next thing he knew, Kara was rubbing his shoulder.

"Mark. Mark, what's wrong?"

She was staring at him, truly concerned. He shook his head for a moment, before smiling to let her know he was fine.

"Nothing's wrong," he told her.

"Well, that's bullshit."

"Roger!"

"I'm really okay," he said again. He was good at pretending things didn't bother him and frankly if he had his way, he'd never think about his relationship with his father ever again. He took the diploma from Roger's hands and held it up. "Happy Rog?"

The glance Roger gave him told Mark that Roger was well aware that he was avoiding something. But his best friend, thankfully, didn't push the issue. He just pointed the camera lens back at Mark. "You know, I'm getting pretty good at using this thing."

"No, you're not," Mark shot back. "Your focus is off."

"Well, that's probably just because the focus is on you."

Those words sounded eerily familiar.

"_I don't like my focus."_

"_Why?" Collins asked. "Because it's you?"_

"You just graduated from medical school, Mark," Roger continued. "What are you going to do next?"

"He's going to Disneyworld!" Maureen shouted, popping herself into the frame. Mark silently thanked her flamboyant nature.

"I'm not going to Disneyworld," he answered. "But I am going to Brooklyn."

"Which ain't Disneyworld," Mimi said with a laugh. "But it does have Coney Island. You guys signed the lease, then?"

Kara nodded, the tassel on her cap flicking with the movement. "I love the apartment and the price is right. I'm doing my residency at New York Methodist, so I really like the idea of a shorter commute. Mark's the one working in Washington Heights."

He shrugged. "That's what the subway is for, right? And I have a bike. It'll be a hell of lot nicer than the loft-"

"And warmer," Roger injected.

"And warmer," Mark agreed. "Kara and I will both have jobs that pay in something other than experience, so the rent is doable."

"And unlike myself, you have no student loans," Kara pointed out.

Mark stole another glance at his father across the room. "No, I don't."

A moment of silence passed between the group before Roger turned off Mark's camera and handed it back to him.

"Let's get out of here and really celebrate. How quick can you both ditch your folks?"

"Roger," Mimi hissed.

Roger just looked at his wife. "I don't know about Kara, but I know there's a reason Mark is standing over here and not next to mom and dad."

"I get that, but you shouldn't say it when they're like five feet away."

"Meems, they are more than five feet away and definitely too far away to hear me."

Kara grabbed a glass of champagne off the tray of a passing waiter with her free hand. "Well, I love my parents, but even I'm ready to send them back to Connecticut at this point." She downed a generous amount in one gulp. "Tell you what. Why don't Mark and I go make nice and say good-bye to the folks and we'll meet you at the Life Café?"

"Make nice?" Mark repeated. "Can I use Tom as human baby shield against your dad?"

Kara rolled her eyes. "My dad tolerates you just fine."

"Tolerates is definitely the right word."

She downed the rest of her glass of champagne before tugging on his arm. "Come on, let's get this over with."

Over with. Well, he had graduated and Columbia had its money. Maybe this would be the last time he'd face his father in an awkward social situation.

And maybe pigs would fly.

Mark ended up shifting his weight uncomfortably as Kara handed Tom off to both his and her mother, the two women gushing over the newborn.

"You sure you don't need your father and I to come and help you move?" his mother asked.

I need you to help as much as I need a tetanus shot, he thought. But instead he gave his mother a tight smile and shook his head. "We've got friends to help us out. We'll be fine."

"I don't see why you don't just hire a moving van," Kara's mother said. "We know money's tight with the baby and all, but we can help out."

"Evelyn, why the hell would-"

"Frank," she said, cutting him off. "She's our daughter and we are always willing to help."

"Not needed, Mom, but thank you. Thank you to all of you," Kara said, giving Mark's parents a smile.

"Well, we figured that you might want to save up for a wedding and—"

Mark and Kara immediately shared a wide-eyed look. Oh no, Mark wasn't going to let his mother open up that can of worms. He opened his mouth to steer the conversation away.

"Katherine, I'm sure Mark and Kara are doing just fine the way they are."

His father. Again.

Who the fuck was this man? Mark watched him take Tom from his mother's arms and smile at the baby. It was a smile that was completely foreign to Mark, as he couldn't recall ever seeing such a look on his father's face when he was growing up.

Mark was simply speechless.

"Um, I know each of you has a drive ahead of you and it is a weeknight and all…"

Kara was talking, but Mark was still staring at his dad. His camera was in his hand, switched in the off position for when Roger had handed it back to him. Not shifting his gaze, he turned it on and started filming because later he was sure he might never catch a glimpse of this again.

It was just like his father at work. It was his father strangely…happy.

His dad suddenly seemed to notice the lens and his face changed. He shifted Tom's weight and handed the baby off again to Frank this time, which despite the rough exterior he showcased to Mark, also doted on the baby.

Maybe it was just Tom, Mark reasoned. Nothing more, nothing less.

They finished exchanging good-byes and such, and walked out of the reception hall. Mark breathed a sigh of relief when he felt the fresh air on his skin.

Until he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Congratulations, Mark," his father said and for a second Mark swore he caught a glimpse of the look he'd seen moments before across his father's face. But if it appeared, it disappeared just as quickly.

"Thanks," he'd said softly, standing still as he watched his and Kara's parents head towards the parking garage.

"You okay?" Kara asked. It was then that Mark noticed his camera was still going. He shut it off.

"As okay as I'll ever be," he told her. "Let's go meet up with everyone at the Life."

* * *

"So what's up with you and your dad?"

Mark looked up from the box he was closing. They'd rented a small in town U-haul truck to transport all the salvable items from the loft to Brooklyn, despite the fact that Mark couldn't honestly remember the last time he'd ever driven a vehicle. Both he and Kara started residency the first week of July, meaning they both had a few weeks off.

Perfect timing for moving. Not perfect timing for what Mark was certain could become an interrogation.

"You're asking about this now?" he said.

His friend just stared at him. "Yeah, I am. We may have grown up a little, but you still avoid everything until you can't anymore. You were moping for at least an hour last night at dinner. I know because I've pulled the same crap. Don't think you owe your dad anything because he wrote you a check."

Mark sighed. "He did more than just write me a check, Roger. And it's…complicated."

"Where the fuck have I heard that before? Oh yeah. When Kara was pregnant and you didn't think that telling me about your issues was a good idea. Fuck, Mark, we've been through this before. I'm your best friend. Fucking talk."

"Talk?" he asked. "Roger, I thought we both had agreed that we don't need to talk about this shit. Because if I'm going to talk about my dad, you'd actually need to tell me a thing or two about yours."

Mark didn't intend for his words to come out as harsh as they did, but even so, that didn't stop Roger.

"My dad is an asshole," Roger answered, his voice remaining even when he said it. "He left my mom with five hungry kids to feed. Now you know something about him. Your turn."

Once again, Roger was going to be a stubborn shit head.

"I'm not my dad," he simply said, not exactly knowing why those words were the first to come out of his mouth.

Maybe it was because deep down he was still trying to convince himself that those words were actually true.

They had to be. He had a different plan and path for the choices he'd made in life.

"No, you're not," Roger agreed. "I'm not my dad, either. Doesn't mean he still didn't fuck up my life."

Mark blinked. "Fuck up your…? Roger, I've always assumed you had a good reason to be pissed at your dad. My dad…well, he never hit me. He never verbally abused me. He was just…cold. And now, he's…" Different, Mark wanted to say, but that didn't seem right. He wasn't sure what his father was now.

"You don't need someone to beat the crap out of you to leave a bruise, Mark." Roger shook his head. "My dad didn't hit me, you know. He didn't really care enough to invest the energy, I think. Indifference does a hell of a lot more damage."

Profound words. Roger was a lot smarter then he looked, despite the fact he hadn't even finished high school. You needed depth to write lyrics, Roger had once claimed.

"What if sometimes I wonder if my dad really is more than just the person I'd seen growing up?"

There. Perhaps he'd said out loud part of what he'd been wrestling with for the past couple of years.

Roger shrugged. "Still doesn't mean you owe him for the rest of your life because he paid for medical school."

"So you don't think I'm a sell out for asking for his help?"

Roger was silent for a minute. "We all need help eventually, even though it sucks asking. I know who paid for my rehab, Mark."

"It was Cindy that paid, actually," he admitted. "I just-"

"Asked for the money?" Roger finished. "Where would I be if you hadn't? Same goes for my appendix. Mark, I suck at being grateful."

"Yeah, you do," Mark agreed. "But it wouldn't be the same if you didn't." His eyes fell back down the box in front of him and he studied cardboard for a moment. "I wish I really knew what was going with my dad and I. I really do."

Suddenly the sound of footsteps interrupted the two friends as Mimi and Kara returned with a slew of boxes from the liquor store down the street.

"Do you have the keys to the truck?" Kara asked, extending her hand. "By the way, I'm driving."

Mark reached into his pocket. "Here. And who said you're driving?"

"Despite the fact that I've never seen you drive, Maureen warned me that you drive like a sixty-year-old man."

Roger burst into laughter. "Maureen is finally right about something," he managed to get out.

Mark shot his best friend a look. "She is not! Besides, when did you ever see me drive?"

"Early summer 1990," Mimi said. "When we rented that car to drive to the Jersey shore. Maureen wasn't talking with Joanne, I think, at that point, so you were the only one with a valid license and no trail of unpaid parking tickets. You drove like forty on the New Jersey Turnpike. My grandma drives faster than forty on the Turnpike." She looked at Kara. "Angel – the first one – made fun of Mark the entire ride."

"And she stole the keys from you while you were sleeping so she could drive back," Roger reminded him.

Oh, yeah. He'd forgotten about that. Angel had also hidden his pants in the process, leading to more embarrassment, but that was a story best left untold.

Kara grabbed the keys from Mark's hand. "Okay, now I'm definitely driving." She picked up one of the boxes next to the door. "We have to be out of here by midnight or we're squatters."

Mark and Roger exchanged a glance. "Been there, done that."

Kara shook her head. "I'm sure I'll find out the real story behind that later." She turned and balancing the box on her knee, slide the door open and headed back down the stairs.

Mark grabbed any empty box. "Good-bye, Alphabet City."

Roger tossed him a roll of packing tape. "Welcome to Brooklyn."


	26. Chapter 26

_**A/N:** I should have the next chapter ready to go shortly. Broken record, but feedback always cherished :)._

* * *

Hello, Brooklyn.

They hadn't really even finished unpacking before residency orientation hit and work schedules began to add up. Maureen, still unsuccessfully auditioning, had expanded her baby-sitting services to include Tom, which thankfully meant no expensive daycare. Before Mark knew it Halloween was closing in and there was still a stack off unopened boxes in the spare bedroom.

"Do you even know what's in them?" Roger asked one day.

Mark shrugged. "I guess nothing important."

The boxes remained untouched and Maureen perched herself on one of them as Mark dug through his film supplies for his extra battery. He had a rare day off and he'd promised Roger he'd film his band at the club that night. Roger had realized that full out rock star might never be in his future, but with some footage, the band could certainly expand on its local fame. Local fame was what he needed to pay the bills.

Maureen was practically bouncing as she sat. "Don't tell Joanne yet, but I got a part-time job at the bakery in your neighborhood."

"A part-time...wow. I mean, that's awesome, Maureen. I, uh, didn't even know you were looking for a job."

"Well, my agent dropped me last month after my last audition kinda blew."

Her agent had dropped her? That most explained her over eagerness to baby-sit in the past few weeks. He didn't know what to say, so he just settled for a "I'm sorry."

Maureen waved a hand. "No big deal. Gotta be bigger and better things out there for Maureen Johnson, right?" He could tell she was obviously hurt by the experience, but she'd never show it. Maureen was bubbly and loud, with a small threshold for tact and she often hurt before she'd ever truly show reveal own hurt. "I brought them some of that cake I made for Mimi's birthday and they liked enough to give me a chance. Do you know they make wedding cakes there? Like some of those fancy ones you see in bridal magazines? Wouldn't it be cool to have a cake I made in one of those things?"

"I think you're getting a bit ahead of yourself."

Maureen shrugged. "Maybe. But it's nice to dream, right?"

"Right. Of course, Mo, you do know that they open at six o'clock a.m.," he pointed out.

Maureen made a face. "Of course I know. But Joanne gets up at like five, so she can push my ass out of bed. Well, once I tell her." She looked around. "Where's Tom? I can't baby-sit without a baby."

"He's sleeping. Finally." Much like he wished he could be doing, Mark thought as he let out a yawn. "Kara's stuck her with the afternoon into late night shift on her current rotation."

"Nights are better than the eight a.m."

"You'll have to like eight a.m. if you want to make cakes. I don't mind the morning." When he'd first moved to New York City, he'd found the early morning the perfect time to film. The tent city in the lot next to the loft was oddly still when the light of dawn let even the biggest troubles disappear for a few stolen minutes.

He also loved watching the sunrise from the roof of the loft.

He missed that.

"When do you start the new job?"

"Next week. It's just fifteen hours a week to start. I can still drop by after work and watch Tom, though it might be up at Mimi's since the Life wants her to increase her hours."

"Completely giving up on Hollywood then?" he asked.

Maureen pursed her lips. "Did you completely give up on film?"

At that moment, Mark found the battery he'd been looking for. "Touche."

"I'll find a new agent," Maureen continued. "Or a new way to Hollywood. As long as you always promise to be the one to take my picture."

Mark knew he'd never be able to say no to her. But unlike the past, where Collins would tell him it was because he still loved the woman, he knew it was purely friendship driven.

"Deal."

* * *

"So, Larry wants to hit that film festival this weekend. What sucks and what should I actually sit though?"

One of nurses, Jeanine, asked the question before Mark had a chance to even really check in. She shoved a chart in his hands as she spoke.

"Cut hand, stitches for sure. So I'm going to need a list."

"A list?" he asked. "You don't become a documentary buff overnight."

"True," she confirmed, "But you are and your first-year ER rotation won't last forever." She sighed. "Last year we saw crap and since you've actually had made a film-"

"Limited release," he put it, detouring towards his locker to shove his bag in. His camera popped out of it. If he were lucky, he'd be able to get a parent or two to consent to its use. He'd also found it was also still the best distraction for a kid he needed to jab. Even better than a lollipop as most kids loved the idea of hitting buttons being a "director."

"Limited release or not, I saw it," she continued. "How the hell I ended up meeting you here after that, I still ponder. But-"

"I haven't seen the list of what's showing this year," he admitted. "Tom was crying all night so I spent the entire evening pacing the kitchen."

Jeanine gave him a pat on the back. "I'm so sorry."

He held back a yawn. "Thanks. Kara had the evening shift as well, and I think all of our neighbors officially hate us."

"They'll get over it. Curtain three, by the way." She pointed to the chart in his hand. "I'll write you in on the board. I'm working a double today so I'll find a copy of the guide they printed in the Village Voice yesterday."

"Sounds good." Mark reached his destination and pushed the exam curtain aside, flipping open the patient chart as he did so. Without looking up, he started to say "Hi, I'm Dr-" when he was interrupted.

"Mark Cohen?"

He looked up and found himself staring at Alexi Darling, a woman he frankly never expected to see again. He'd quit Buzzline over five years in a very short and blunt phone call that didn't leave him with a good opportunity to ever ask for a reference.

"Alexi." Her manicured hand was on the shoulder of a young boy, aged seven if Mark went by the chart.

She raised an eyebrow at him. "This is the last place I'd expect to run into you. You told me you had to finish your own film."

"Which I did," he told her.

"I know." She gave him a tight smile. "I saw it. But apparently you also found time to go to medical school, unless we're on candid camera."

"No hidden cameras. Just this one." He held up his battered camera and immediately the boy's eyes perked up.

"Is that a movie camera?"

"Sure is," Mark confirmed. Better than a lollipop. "You can take a look if you let me look at your arm."

"Deal." Easy exchange.

"So your son-"

"My nephew," she corrected. "Peter. He's my brother's son. And after I return him wounded, I doubt I'll ever be keeping an eye on him again."

"Aunt Alexi and I rode the subway. There was a man wearing nothing on under his trench coat. I tripped on the stairs."

Mark pulled the bandage from Peter's arm. "I see that." The cut was pretty deep, fairly long, and was filled with dirt and gravel. It would need careful cleaning and probably a dozen stitches to close.

"Well, Peter," he started with a smile, "I hate to tell you that you're going to need a few stitches. But I'll give you something-"

"Stitches!" Peter interrupted. "Cool! Can you make sure there's more than ten? Chris fell off his bike last week and had to get ten stitches in his arm. I have to beat him."

Well, this was going to be easier than he'd thought. Not that he was complaining. He'd gotten better at soothing crying kids, but he still had a lot to learn. Nurses were a resource he treasured.

"How about twelve?"

"Twelve?" Peter repeated. "Will there be a scar?"

Mark held back a laugh as he turned around to find a suture kit. "Probably."

Peter looked overjoyed. Mark hoped he stayed that way when he saw the needle. He shouldn't have worried, as the seven-year-old could care less and was more interested in carrying a battle scar.

"You gave up film for medicine?" Alexi asked.

Mark's eyes didn't waver from Peter's arm. "No, not exactly. Long story." He didn't feel like he owed Alexi Darling of all people his life story and plan.

"I'm sure it's an interesting one. I don't hire freelancers without a fresh perspective and you have one that I rarely see."

"I'm sure you rarely see it on Buzzline is what you mean."

"No. I left Buzzline two years ago."

He raised an eyebrow. "You said it was a news show."

"It was," she insisted. "Well, mainly. But it was also a stepping stone." He heard her shift and before he knew it, she'd laid a business card in his eye line.

Mark didn't acknowledge it until Peter was stitched and bandaged, holding up his arm with pride. Mark picked up the card after handing Alexi a prescription for antibiotics.

"Producer," he read. "Landmark Productions. That's a local documentary production company." He'd tried unsuccessfully to get a meeting there when he'd first moved to New York City.

"Very up and coming," Alexi confirmed. "If you have anything new, call me to make a meeting." He must have given her an odd look, because she flashed a smile. "I'm serious."

Serious. Yeah, right. He shoved the card into his lab coat pocket, shook his head, and left to see his next patient.


	27. Chapter 27

_**A/N: ** Traveling to London early next week (so excited!), so I've made this chapter a bit longer in case I don't get a new chapter up until I get back. Reviews loved! _

* * *

The next day, Mark sat at his kitchen table, flipping Alexi's new business card over in his hand.

"He's finally asleep and Kara left for work an hour ago. I made chicken up at Mimi's. Go up if you want some." Maureen pulled out the chair next to Mark and sat down. "You know, I'm getting pretty good at this baby thing. I keep telling Joanne this means we should have our own, but she's not convinced it's not a phase of mine." Maureen paused. "Mark, can I ask you something?"

Mark let Alexi's card fall to the tabletop. He looked at Maureen. "Sure."

"Do I really just go through phases?"

What a loaded question. He needed to think this one through. "Well..."

"I'm really not that bad," she protested. "I know that Joanne wasn't sure I'd keep the bakery job and they've promoted me! Plus, Joanne and I have been together over five years, you know. That's longer and you and I-" she stopped herself. "Oh, I'm sorry, baby. I told you before, I was a fool."

He shook his head. "Water under the bridge, Maureen. And you're definitely different than when we first started dating in high school. Things change. People change. Joanne wants kids, you know. It's just that unlike Roger and Mimi or Kara and I, she'll probably want to properly plan them."

"Or pencil them into her day planner, you mean." Maureen sighed. "She's an over organized uptight superwoman and I-"

"Still love her for it?" Mark finished. "So you cooked upstairs?"

Maureen nodded. "Lemon chicken. With whipped potatoes. And broccoli."

"Roger hates broccoli."

Maureen grinned wickedly. "I know."

He couldn't help laughing. "You're evil, Maureen."

She shrugged. "I try. You're on call tonight, right? So I'll stay on the couch just in case, okay?"

"Thanks." His eyes fell back down to Alexi's card. Maureen must have noticed because before he could pick it up again, she had.

"Alexi Darling. Producer." Her eyebrows furrowed. "Alexi Darling as in the woman from Buzzline like a million years ago?"

Mark took the card from Maureen's hand. "Try like five years ago. But yeah. She brought her nephew into the ER today. She was kinda shocked to see me there, I think. She left Buzzline two years ago and works for a small documentary film production company now. She actually asked me if I still filmed and if I had anything new. She said I had great perspective."

"Well, you do," Maureen agreed. "Wow. Left Buzzline. That show is still on and is a celebrity cash cow." She studied him a moment. "You have all that footage. You should show it to her."

"What footage? All I have is footage of-"

"You?" Maureen finished for him. "You know, you're pretty cute in front of the lens."

"That's a subjective opinion, I think."

"What? I think Kara would agree. You have to stop being so camera-shy, Mark. I mean, it worked pretty well in high school but we're like thirty now."

"Don't remind me." His eyes fell once again to Alexi's name. His footage, his focus the two things he'd been ignoring for the past few months. Yes, his work schedule had been brutal, but he knew deep down he'd been using it as excuse. In all honesty, there were a few reels he'd only been able to watch once or twice as they made him think entirely too much about his ever strained relationship with his father.

Therefore, he hadn't cut together something, hadn't found the story in the miles of film.

Last time he needed Angel's memory to kick his ass. Would Collins find a way to come back and kick his behind this time so he'd finish? Would he need Roger to take another trip to Santa Fe as well?

He didn't know what he needed, but Alexi's card certainly left the door wide open.

And three days later, Mark suddenly found motivation staring him straight in the face.

* * *

Roger had a cough. Roger was a stubborn ass, and Mark had been working long hours so despite that fact that only one floor separated them, he hadn't crossed Roger's path in four days.

He arrived home, exhausted. An equally exhausted Kara sat on the couch, trying to settle a fusing Tom.

"Mimi called. Roger's sick. I offered to take a look, but he wanted to wait for you to get home."

Mark's blood suddenly ran cold. Shit.

"What's wrong?"

"Cough that he can't kick, apparently. Mimi said he was up all last night and she's pretty sure he's running a temp today." She rocked Tom and gave him a strained smile. "Wasn't he at the clinic last week?"

"Well, Angel was, but I made him give me a blood sample as well. His T-Cells were decent actually, just above 400."

"Then hopefully it's not an OI. Not PCP."

"I wasn't-"

"Yes, you were." Kara knew him too well, apparently. She shifted the baby in her lap, a piece of her hair falling across her face and within the grasp of baby fingers that didn't hesitate to grab hold. "Ouch. No, sweetie. Mommy's hair isn't for pulling."

Tom was almost seven months old and Mark couldn't believe how big has was getting. He suddenly wished his son could meet his namesake, well aware of the irony that the child probably wouldn't have existed if Collins hadn't died in the first place.

Collins died because of pneumonia.

He searched his pockets for his prescription pad, found his bag and headed upstairs to Roger and Mimi's.

* * *

Mimi had been pacing the kitchen when he'd arrived, trying her very best not to worry. Angel was in her high chair, still awake despite the fact it was after nine. She was covered in baby food and waved a carrot-crusted hand at Mark.

"Mar!" she proclaimed loudly, slamming her little fist on her bowl, which sent even more carrot mush flying. Angel was defying preemie odds. The fact that she hadn't suffered any major HIV-related complications was a small miracle. Her reflux had begun to improve and at ten months, she had even started forming a few one-syllable words. Much to Mark's surprise, she'd learned his (well, minus the K, anyway) pretty quickly. He had figured he might be the last person the little girl would be excited to see since the last time he'd seen her, he'd stuck her with a sharp object.

Mark heard the coughing before he even had to ask where Roger was.

"Shit, Mark, that's cold."

"Roger, stop talking and just breathe."

Mark listened a moment before unhooking the stethoscope from his ears. Roger's left lung in particular sounded like complete crap. "Get your coat. We're going to the hospital. You need a chest X-ray." And a few other tests, his mind told him as he started to tally up the orders.

"What? No. Mark, can't we-" Roger stopped mid sentence to let out a harsh cough, "Just go to the clinic in the morning?" The words left him out of breath.

"No. Your lungs sound awful and you're running a temperature of 102. I think you could have pneumonia and you need antibiotics. Now." Roger wasn't winning this round. "If you'd gone to clinic when you started feeling like crap, this could have been avoided, you know."

"You lecturing me?" Roger asked. "Because that is the one I don't like about you since you added extra letters after your name."

Mark ignored his comment. "Well you deserve the lecture. Why didn't you go?"

Roger coughed again, the spell lasting longer than his first. Mark could feel Mimi hovering in the background, despite the fact that Roger had told her to keep herself and Angel away from his germs.

"Roger?" he asked again. He wasn't about to let this go.

Roger took as deep of a breath as he could manage. "Because you weren't working at the clinic this week, okay? I don't trust anyone else."

Under normal circumstances, Mark might have been flattered at the words, but he knew how much a day delay on an infection could spell disaster for Roger's fragile immune system.

He just sighed. "I'm going to talk to Mimi. Where's your coat?"

Four hours later, Mark stood next to one the supervising ER residents and stared at Roger's chest x-rays.

"Pneumonia," he said. "Shit."

The resident studied the film a minute before yanking it down. "Not too bad yet, though. Your patient is pretty lucky you dragged him in." He handed Mark the film. "Though I don't know too many thirty-one year-olds with a first year pediatric resident as their PCP."

"Long story." One Mark didn't really want to get into.

"His CD4 counts are actually pretty good, considering. He's still over 200, so this is probably just your typical pneumonia strain. His O2 stats are decent enough to avoid admitting him. Some erythromycin IM before he leaves and a scrip for orals and he'll probably be fine as long he isn't exposed to anything else on the road to recovery." The doctor smiled. "Give yourself another couple of months and you won't need a second opinion on a case like this. You read about HAART?"

"Yeah. Triple cocktail. One of the recommended paths is Favirenz, zidovudine, lamivudine."

"Initial results sure beats zidovudine alone. If your patient can kick this infection, it-"

"Is worth trying," Mark confirmed. "I know. I've been trying to get him to come in for weeks. His wife is also HIV-positive." Mark left out the part about Angel because deep down, perhaps, he hoped the little girl defied odds.

"Two birds, one stone."

"I guess," Mark agreed. The resident left, turning back into the chaos of the ER.

* * *

"I was right. You have pneumonia."

Roger flopped back on the gurney. "Shit. I just want to go home."

"Well, you'll get your wish. I'm not admitting you."

Roger's head perked up. "You're not?"

Mark shook his head. "No. But you better call the band and the club because you're not leaving your apartment for at least two weeks."

"Two weeks?" Roger protested, coughing the second he'd finished voicing his displeasure. He rubbed at his chest. "Shit, that hurts."

Mark reached into the drawer next the gurney for a packaged syringe. "Hence why you need to stay home. And get better." He paused a moment as he grabbed a pair of gloves and quickly thought over what the senior resident had said.

"And I want to change your HIV medication," he added.

"What wrong with the AZT?" Roger's eyes widened at the needle in Mark's hand. "You're going to stick me with that, aren't you?"

"No, Roger, it's just for show. Of course, I'm going to stick you with it. It's an antibiotic to give you a head start while you get your prescriptions filled." Mark shook his head. "I don't get you, Roger. You took heroin once upon a time. And you didn't snort it."

"April did the poking," Roger admitted, coughing into his hand. He rubbed his chest. "I couldn't look. And it was..."

"Different," Mimi finished. "Definitely different."

Mark just shook his head again, grabbed an alcohol wipe and yanked up Roger's sleeve. "Whatever. And, yeah, I want to change your HIV meds. I tried talking to you about last week, but you bolted. Not taking you off the AZT, really, but adding a couple of more medications to the AZT. Combination therapy. Something Mimi should do as well." He stuck the needle in, noticing Roger shift his gaze and wince when he did so.

"More pills?"

"It's called highly active antiretroviral therapy or HAART for short. There are a couple of new drugs the FDA approved a few months ago."

"Sound expensive," Mimi said, her forehead wrinkling in thought.

"Since they have been formally approved, chances are your insurance company should cover it. And if not, I'll see what I can do." He threw the used syringe into a nearby bio-hazard container. "Angel needs to go on the medication, too."

He saw Mimi swallow. "Right." Talking about these things was a reminder of reality, Mark knew.

But he just wanted his friends to have a reality to consider. If Roger or Mimi or little Angel died because of something silly like pneumonia it would feel like the last four years had been futile.

Of course, the last fours years hadn't been enough to prevent Collins from dying, he silently said to himself as he stripped off his gloves and reached for Roger's chart, noting the medication dosage in it. As he shoved the pen back into his pocket, he realized how easily he'd fallen into a routine doing such things.

Futile or not, treating Roger felt as natural as holding a camera in his hand.

"I'll bring some more information home for you guys," he continued. "If you want to read-"

Roger held up a hand, stopping him. "Don't bother. After all, you're the doctor, Mark."

Mark blinked, contemplating Roger's words. Damn. He was the doctor.

When had things really changed?

* * *

Mark stared at the screen flickering in front of him.

"Is that your friend Collins?"

He turned his head to find Kara perched on the edge of the couch. He hadn't heard her come in. Her hair was slightly tussled and she was wearing her robe. He hoped he hadn't woken her up.

"Yeah," he said softly. "His thirtieth birthday." Right before he it was confirmed he had full-blown AIDS, he also knew, but left the words unsaid.

"I wasn't sure you'd come home. I didn't see you when Mimi and Roger got back a couple of hours ago. I thought maybe you stayed to catch a couple of hours of sleep in the on-call room before your shift."

He shook his head, his eyes turning back the screen. "I waited for some further lab results, so I got in an hour or so after they did. You were sleeping. I got someone to cover for me so I'm working tonight." He turned at look at her. "Did I ever tell you about how I worked for Buzzline?"

"That sleazy tabloid news show? Yeah, you mentioned it, but never elaborated."

"Nothing to elaborate on really. I lasted less than two months before quitting to finish Today 4 U." He paused. "But I ran into the woman I worked for there a few days ago. Alexi Darling is her name. She works for a documentary film company now."

"Oh." Kara got up off the couch's edge and gestured for Mark to slide over, situating herself into the empty space. Together they watched Maureen light the candles on the cake and present it to Collins, who blew out the candles. Mark didn't miss the coughing that occurred both before and after all the candles were extinguished.

The scene ended a minute later and the screen went dark. Before Mark could switch off the projector, he saw himself pop up on the screen in mist of what he remembered as the beginning of clinical training. He had no idea that both of those ended up on the same reel.

"It's you," Kara said, snuggling in close to him. "I never get to watch footage of you. Do you ever miss it?"

"Miss what?" he asked, though he had a feeling he knew exactly what she meant.

"Filming. I haven't seen pick up your camera as much in the last couple of months."

"I've been a little busy with work." It was the truth. He had.

"Yeah," Kara agreed. "I guess we both have been. You know, you never did tell how you went from film to medicine. We must have watched hundreds of movies together, including footage of your friends and I have to admit, I don't know the whole story. I didn't even realize you had footage of you." She gestured towards the screen. "You're pretty interesting, you know."

Mark let out of short chuckle. "Ha. Collins told me the same damn thing." He pulled away from Kara and got up to shut off to projector. "I'm putting Roger on HAART, by the way."

"Oh no, you don't." Kara got up. "Don't use work to avoid the subject."

Great. He didn't need Kara to start in on him as well. "I'm not avoiding anything, Kara. I'm making conversation. I just spent quite a few hours with Roger at the ER and-"

"And he's not dying," Kara interrupted. "He's not okay, but he will be. Mark, you are a good doctor. But stuff like this," she pointed to the projector, "tells me you are also a good filmmaker. How did you go from one to the other?"

How. That was certainly the question. The very same one he'd found himself thinking a few hours ago. The only answer he really had was that it was a journey of self-discovery that was still unveiling twists and turns each day.

He blinked.

Damn it. Collins was right. Collins was fucking right.

"It's a long story," Mark finally told Kara.

She tapped the projector. "One that's perfect for the big screen?" She raised an eyebrow. "Did that Alexi Darling happen to give you a business card?"

* * *

_Medical stuff researched, some dramatic license taken, much like ER and House do :).  
Those curious, some stuff referenced in this chapter:  
OI: Opportunistic Infection; PCP (double meaning here!): Pneumocystis pneumonia (referenced in earlier chapters with Collins) or Primary Care Physician.  
Erythromycin: broad spectrum antibiotic used to treat respiratory infections; Zidovudine is more commonly known as AZT. CD4 count also means T-Cell count.  
HAART therapy was introduced in 1996 and expanded the lifespan of those living with HIV by decades, a real turning point (and interestingly enough, right around when Rent opened on Broadway)._


	28. Chapter 28

**A/N: Life got busy. Working full time and taking classes got in the way. Excuses, excuses. Not 100% happy with this, really, but wanted to post something to get my muse back in gear. Reviews always appreciated.**

* * *

He spent every spare moment he could editing the film into a very rough draft, even if it meant bouncing Tom in his baby seat with one hand while he scrolled and marked cuts on the film with another. Kara, for her part, just dropped his beeper in his eye line, and left him a sandwich and cup of tea when she headed out for her shift.

Maureen came at one point, letting herself in with the key he'd given her. His hand was lifted off the baby seat and he heard the snap of straps being undone and the still foreign tones of Maureen cooing to the baby.

He had to get through this reel before his shift started at six. He was on call for the twenty-four hours after that shift, so the chance he'd have another few interrupted hours were slim to nil.

He paused at footage of Collins, stopping the reel and marking the frame. He swallowed past Scarsdale, his father, past the footage of himself on rounds with Maureen's choppy narration.

Watch, stop, mark.

Mark, mark, mark, Mark.

His film. His focus.

Yet, it still felt unfinished. The footage was choppy and he had no idea why he'd called Alexi Darling, telling her he'd drop off a reel next week. She could take one look and laugh for all he knew. Still, she'd seemed interested. Well, as interested as a former tabloid producer could be, he rationalized.

Watching himself on film was painful. Okay, perhaps painful wasn't the proper word, but Mark hated seeing himself in view. Sure, he'd narrated to the camera before, but in reality, he'd never planned for the world to see his face. Remaining a nameless voice meant he could step back and observe, recording someone else's smile, someone else's tears, someone else's life. It was easier that way.

That way he'd never stopped to think about the decisions and choices he'd made, except perhaps to defend them.

He'd changed. That was a fact he'd always been aware of, but seldom liked to acknowledge. Change certainly wasn't a bad thing. Roger and Mimi had changed; Maureen had changed. Change was a part of life, part of the twists and turns life hands everyone.

He'd just never found his own twists and turns worth mentioning, let alone documenting. His own story was the only one he actually controlled and because of that fact, he'd tried to simply ignore it.

But by doing so, was he ignoring life? That was something Roger had basically accused him of doing at Angel's funeral, years ago. It felt like a lifetime ago, when he knew it wasn't.

So he'd changed and he'd build a new goal. But had all of him really changed? And if so, the next question was where did he go from here? It was a question that he didn't think he was going to find in the reels of footage he had.

Or maybe, more accurately, he was afraid that he actually would.

"I'm stuck," he said out loud, five days later, knowing well that no one except his son was around. He sighed, trying to get his fuzzy brain to concentrate, when something slimy touched his hand.

He looked up to find Tom leaning out his high chair as far as possible trying his very best to pass along a damp and half-chomped cookie. He had a look on his face that seemed to sincerely believe that cookies made everything better.

Mark took the cookie and set it down on the table. He got up and scooped Tom out of the high chair. Tom giggled.

Maybe all things weren't on film after all.

Things changed, yes. He was a dad now. Despite work, filming, anything, he had this little person that seemed to believe in him.

He ruffled Tom's hair once more before setting him down in his playpen.

He had to think about his decisions now and couldn't just bother with defending them. A nameless voice wasn't something he could remain, not with the path in life he'd found himself on. Passion never dies, but he needed to channel it differently. People still relied on him, but it was in completely different way.

But, why?

His story, his life. His plot to plan. Maybe the answer was closer than he thought. He had to stop being afraid to find it.

He went back to editing.

* * *

Two days later, he dropped off an edited reel on his way to work, thinking he'd probably never again hear from Alexi Darling.

He got a phone call three days later at work.

"How probable is it that you can get releases signed?"

Mark almost choked on the coffee he'd been sipping. "Um, releases?"

"Permission from all the people featured in your footage. I know you've been out of the business for a few years, Mark Cohen, but I don't think you completely forget the logistics. We're going to need permission from the hospital, of course, but I can spin this as good PR. Are you represented by that lawyer...Jefferson, I think her name was, right?"

"Good memory," he muttered. He'd be on the phone with Joanne the second he was through with Alexi.

She liked the damn film. Collins would find a way to haunt him just so to make him eat some serious crow.

"It's not one hundred percent finished, though, is it?"

That question through him for a loop. He wasn't sure exactly what to say. "It's been a work in progress," he admitted.

"I'd like to hire someone to help film some more. Nothing high tech, of course, to keep with the same style. After we get releases, of course."

She was mentioning releases again. He really needed to call Joanne.

And he did, only it was a few hours later, after work settled a bit to allow him another five minute pocket of peace. Joanne had been as shocked as he was, sounding genuinely happy and agreeing to contact Alexi directly on his behalf to talk details. He'd beeped Kara, briefly speaking to her. He went through the rest of his shift as usual, getting on the subway when he was done.

He'd been so deep in thought he'd almost missed his stop.

Alexi liked it. She was interested. This wasn't riot footage, this wasn't Angel. This was him and she wanted to see more. Was his life actually that interesting?

Kara had mentioned they were out of milk, so he stopped at the corner market. Dropping a couple of dollar bills on the corner (he still needed to get used to fact that he had more than a couple of crumbled dollar bills in his pocket these days), another thought hit him.

Kara.

He had to stop being afraid of complete change. He had to take charge. He slipped his key into the lock, a smile forming.

Kara.

She turned from the sink, a dish still in her hands. Her hair was pulled into a messy ponytail and there were circles under her eyes, testament to the long hours they had both been putting in lately.

He thought she looked beautiful.

"Are you excited?" she asked, reaching for a towel to dry the dish. "And did you get milk?"

It was his life after all. His story to create and control.

"Marry me."

She blinked, tilting her head slightly, sending a loose strand of hair across her eyes. "What?"

"I know," he started. "It is what both our parents wanted and of course, that automatically means we want it less, right? But," he stepped closer towards her. "I love you."

He watched Kara swallow, and slowly place the dish in her hands on the counter. She let a moment of silence pass between them. "I love you, too," she finally said, softly. "I'd..." She stopped to shake her head, a small smile crossing her face. "I'd love to."

"Love to?" he asked. "Love to..."

"Marry you," she finished. "But nothing big. No frills. No fancy rings, no big white puffy dress. And since religion would be a huge clash between our parents, city hall would probably be the best, I think."

"Okay," he agreed. "You know, I somehow thought this be harder."

"Harder?" Kara asked.

"To convince you. I had a defense prepared, but then you just go ahead and..."

"Surprise you?" Kara finished. She stepped even closer to him. "I'm not taking your name, though."

"Of course not." He grinned. "If you'd agreed to that, I'd think you'd been replaced with a pod person." She hit him gently with the dish towel still in her hands.

"Very funny. You never answered my question, though. Are you excited? About the film, I mean."

He just smiled, stepping forward to close the gap between the two of them. With one hand he placed the bag containing the milk on the corner, using the other to circle her waist. He caught her off guard once again as he kissed her, harder and deeper than he had in a while.

When they broke apart, both were slightly breathless. Kara simply blinked.

"Mark," she whispered.

He just shook his head slightly. "I'm excited. I really am."

Even as he uttered the words, a silly, stupid grin on his face, he knew he had much more to be excited about. Who knew what the future would bring?

And this time, he'd face head on.


	29. Chapter 29

**A/N:** It has been a while, over a year. Writer's block on this story - I've been working on and been debating on my original ideas for an ending. But one New Year's Resolution is to finally finish it. So if you are still reading and enjoy, please take the time to review.

* * *

"Married, huh?" Roger asked with his eyes still focused on the strings of his guitar as his lightly strummed. "Maureen made some casserole thing before she left, by the way. It has broccoli in it, so eat it so I don't have to."

"I''ll pass." Mark smiled as he took a seat in the chair across from his friend. Maureen slightly evil streak would probably never die. "Yes, married. You did it. That means it can't be too hard to achieve."

"Suppose not," Roger agreed. "Though I'd thought you've have beaten me to the punch a long time ago. Guess Collins wins the bet after all."

"Bet?"

"He said that I'd finally man up and marry Mimi long before you left to pursue the domestic life."

Mark just shook his head. "I don't think I'd call what Kara and I have the domestic life."

"You work. You come home to an apartment you share. You have a kid together. What else is that?"

"Touché," he agreed. "But you-"

"Am doing the same thing. I know. What the fuck is up with that anyway? Mimi and I used to be wild…" He strummed the strings of his guitar again. "But we also both used to be junkies. Maybe the trade-off isn't such a bitch after all. Hell, I write more music now that I ever did in the entire year I was with April."

"Yeah," Mark echoed softly. Roger spent a lot of time writing lately and Mark wondered if one of those songs would ultimately gain him some well deserved national fame in the end. A comfortable silence settled between the two of them. Roger went back to his guitar, his gaze focused on the strings again.

Mark was the one to speak again. "Alexi Darling wants to produce my footage."

The change of subject was abrupt, he knew. Roger looked up at him.

"The chick from Buzzline?"

"Formally from Buzzline. She works for a documentary film company now. I ran into her at work, of all places, a few weeks ago."

"Well, shit. That's why you've been holed up downstairs. Maureen mentioned something about you cutting together footage, but I figured maybe it was some of the band stuff you shot." He smiled. "Fuck. Collins wins another bet. That bastard is laughing at me from above, you know."

"Another bet?" he asked. "What makes my life so interesting that you and Collins made more than one bet on it? Bets that are over two years old, in fact."

"Probably closer to three," Roger admitted. "And when you make a career change…it's going to be about you, right? The movie?" He glanced above. "Because if not, then Collins, my man, you only get half."

"Yes, it will be about me," he admitted. "Kara convinced me to show Alexi some footage and she loved it. She wants more." He frowned. "She wants releases to be signed by a lot of people."

"Releases? You mean permission? Well, sign me up. And Mimi. That is, if we're going to be in it."

"You are," he said. "I mean, the band might even be in. Great publicity for you guys if this really happens. Work is eating this up. Joanne called them to set up a meeting and the main PR person found me personally on my last shift, talking a mile a minute about showcasing the hospital properly or some shit like that."

"Okay, so that sounds awesome, but…?"

He sighed. "She wants my parents to sign releases as well. Specifically my dad."

"Not happening?" he asked.

He let out a snort. "Yeah, right. My parents don't really know about this little film project of mine. My dad and I can finally hold a conversation, though it is still somewhat awkward. Asking him to let me talk to the public about our strained relationship and even to showcase him on screen…no." He got up, heading towards Roger and Mimi's kitchen. "I need coffee."

"Coffee machine is broken. Mimi didn't realize how close Angel's high chair was to it and she pushed as many buttons on it as she could manage. The on button jammed and we had to unplug it. You'll have to make the instant stuff." Roger put down his guitar and got up to follow him. "And how the hell do you know your dad would say no if you don't even bother to ask?"

"I don't need to ask to know the answer." He reached for the tea kettle on the stove, bringing it to the sink to fill.

"Sometimes people surprise you, you know," Roger pointed out, opening a cabinet and plucking down a can of Folgers. "For instance, I'd have expected you to drink tea. When did you start drinking so much coffee?"

He set the full kettle back on the stove. "Since I first started medical school over five years ago. Just noticing?"

Roger just shrugged. "People surprise you everyday."

"Is that your pathetic attempt at making a point, Roger? Or have you been watching too much Lifetime with Maureen lately?"

"Me watch TV with Maureen? And Lifetime?"

"Well, sometimes people surprise you," Mark shot back. "And Mo talks. A lot. These days, you guys don't hate each other as much as you let other people believe."

"I never said I hated Maureen. Well, out loud anyway," Roger answered. "Call your mom and tell her about the wedding or Kara will and she might tell her a whole lot more. You do it and perhaps you'll find an opening to talk about the movie."

"I doubt my mother will want to come to City Hall and-" Roger just gave him a look that said "you know that woman will come" and Mark knew he was right. "You're right, I need to call her. But asking my dad is…let's just make sure Kara actually marries me first. Because if that doesn't happen, Collins loses your bet."

Roger leaned against the kitchen counter, shaking his head. "Nah. I really should know better not to bet against Collins. Even when he's not here, he never loses."


	30. Chapter 30

"Married? At City Hall?"

Mark had to physically hold the phone away from his ear to avoid the high-pitched screech in his mother's voice. He was already regretting calling her, but Kara had insisted and she'd already called her parents and listened to their disappointment.

"Yes, Mom," he confirmed. "On Tuesday at three. It's the only time that Kara and I both have off when City Hall is open. You don't have to be there, I was just letting you-"

"Not be there?" his mother interrupted, her tone indicating that she would most definitely not entertain the thought. "Oh, your father and I will be there. It's just we thought perhaps that you might want a rabbi—"

It was his turn to interject. "No, Mom. Kara is Catholic, remember?"

That statement didn't deter her. "Well, there could be a priest there as well, I suppose."

He wanted out of this conversation. "I haven't been to temple since high school, Mom. What makes you think I'm going to start now?"

He heard his mother sigh. "At least let us throw you a party at the country club in a few weeks, Mark. You can't just get married at City Hall and that's it."

He cringed when she mentioned the country club. It brought up memories of Maureen and Joanne's commitment ceremony, which had been in the very same country club his mother was talking about. No way in hell would that happen.

"We're planning to go out to dinner afterwards," he offered, though he knew his mother would still balk. He could picture her drumming her fingernails on top of the kitchen counter as she was talking to him.

"We could have the party at the house," she continued. "One weekend when you aren't working."

"I'm a first year resident, Mom. I'm always working. And I have a film-" He stopped short, realizing that the film wasn't something he was ready to talk about with his mother yet. Even though deep down, he knew he had to.

Just as he'd told Roger, Alexi had seen the footage from his time at his dad's practice and had practically eaten it up. She still wanted both of his parents to sign releases, even after he'd refused, saying there was enough other footage to string together a story without bringing his family into it. She wasn't buying it, and objectively, he knew she was right.

He just couldn't picture his parents agreeing.

"Film?" his mother asked. "You're still filming?"

"Yeah," he said casually, "just a little side project for the hospital. Informative patient video." He was surprised how easily the lie rolled off his tongue and why he thought he even needed to lie to the first place.

Either way, she bought it. "Oh, that's nice. We'll come on Tuesday, Mark. Three o'clock. We'll take you and Kara, her parents, and your friends to dinner afterward, so make reservations somewhere nice. Your father likes Carmine's in midtown. We can discuss a party at the house then."

She was going to push a party, but he was getting out of an actual wedding fairly easily. There had to be a catch and he'd be sure to prepare himself for it.

He was still pondering that very thought as he pulled at his tie while he and Kara waited for their turn to be married. It was just before three and his parents were nowhere in site.

Not that he minded, of course.

He and Kara were flanked by Roger, Mimi, Maureen, and Joanne. Mimi held Angel against her hip, the baby happily sucking on three fingers. Kara's mother was there, holding a slightly fussy Tom. Kara's father hadn't been able to get the day off of work, which Mark found a major plus. He liked Kara's mother enough, but her father and he would never see eye to eye.

"I'm sure they are coming, dear," Evelyn took him, obviously mistaking his fidgeting for worry.

Oh, it was certainly worry. Evelyn just had it backwards. "That's what I'm afraid of," he muttered, still pulling at his tie. Kara's hand gripped his shoulder and squeezed it gently. He looked up at her. She was wearing a tasteful beige dress - ("White," she'd told him, "doesn't fool anyone, especially when we show up with a baby in tow") - and heels. Her brown hair was loose, and the gentle waves framed her face. She gave him a small smile.

"We could just run in the opposite direction, you know. Living in sin has been working out for us, after all."

He almost laughed. "No way. You're not getting out of this that easily. Five more minutes and we get to go in and get married in peace, without my-"

"Mark!" His mother's voice cut across the room as she walked in, his father in tow.

"Mother," he finished and forced a smile on his face. He could do this.

Maybe.

Thankfully, the ceremony itself was short. There were no substituted sappy vows, just the standard words required by the state of New York. He and Kara finished with an abbreviated kiss, cut even shorter when out of nowhere Maureen started throwing rice.

True to her word, his parents ushered them all out and into midtown for dinner, though she thankfully let him, Kara, and Tom ride in their own cab. The dinner was uncomfortable, but peaceful. Maureen remained on her best behavior, though Mark chalked that mostly up to the glare Joanne shot her way the second they sat down. Mimi kept raising her eyes at the prices and Roger put on his best fake smile and ordered the most expensive thing on the menu.

Evelyn and his mother spent the meal chatting, probably planning the rest of his and Kara's lives. Tom tried his best to shove an entire dinner roll in his mouth with his grubby little hands. Angel tried to copy him and ended up puking on their waiter's shoes, which Roger and Maureen found absolutely hilarious.

After dinner, his mother insisted on seeing their apartment in "quaint little Brooklyn." She let Kara take her on a three-minute tour as Mark plopped a half-asleep Tom into the playpen in the living room. His father sat on the couch.

"I got a phone call. From someone at Landmark Productions."

Mark turned from the playpen, frozen in place. She wasn't supposed to call him. He'd said no.

"Your mother said you mentioned something about helping out with a training film at work. Therefore was no reason someone would be asking me to sign a release for something like that."

Oh, Alexi was going to hear from him. He'd said no very forcefully and loudly.

"Yeah, well," he stammered, trying to find a way to get past this moment. "I'm sorry—"

"I signed it."

"-She wasn't supposed to—what?"

"They faxed me a release and I signed it. For your documentary."

Mark blinked. He had no clue what to say. This was the last thing he'd have ever expected.

His father stared at him, no apparent expression on his face.

"Um...thank you?" he finally managed, knowing he couldn't do anything to hide his surprise. His father didn't respond, letting an awkward, yet normal, silence settle between the two of them. Mark eased himself into the armchair next the couch, his fingers nervously tracing its fabric.

"This is really a darling apartment!"

His mother's overly cheerful voice was a welcome reprieve. He got up immediately as she and Kara entered the room. As if also sensing his father's tension, Tom chose the same moment to start fusing. There was a round of quick good-byes as Mark scooped the tired baby up.

It was nearly an hour later after Tom had been settled into his crib when he looked up to find Kara standing in the doorway to Tom's room wearing a silk bathrobe.

"I've got a ton of laundry to fold and charting, but it seems rather silly to do either of those things on our wedding night."

"Yeah," he agreed. "Today my father signed the release."

Kara frowned. "What release? And what does have do with tonight?"

"Nothing. The release for the film. Someone at Landmark called him. He actually signed it."

She paused a moment. "This is a good thing, right?"

He considered the question. The footage was interesting, connected the dots in places, places he wasn't sure he wanted connected. Because if that footage was in there, he'd be forced to admit…

No, he thought, he couldn't. He was certainly not his father.

"I don't know," he finally answered. "I just don't know."

* * *

Two weeks later, he tried not to think about his father as a guy with a camera followed him around a few hours each day to get more footage. It felt strange to be followed, though he supposed it was because he was used to having the camera in his hand.

He wondered if this was how everyone he'd ever filmed felt.

His own battered camera lay in his locker. Today was a clinic day, which he'd almost told Alexi to forget about. She gave him a look that said no way and a stack of blank release forms.

"She spent the entire night sniffling, Mark. I almost called Kara since you were working but Roger told me I was overreacting. I'm not, right?"

Angel simply sneezed and reached for the end of Mark's stethoscope, unfazed by her mother's worry.

"Mar!" she declared when she got hold of it. Mark gently grabbed it out of her hand, exchanging it for the small stuffed bear he always kept in his pocket on clinic days. Angel immediately stuck it her mouth.

Standing next to the exam table, Mimi muffled a cough of her own and shifted her weight. His radar immediately went up. She was pale and when she noticed him looking, she glanced at the floor.

"She's sick, isn't she?"

"She's sneezed," he answered. "She's got a cold. You, on the other hand, are-"

Mimi took a step back and smiled. "I'm fine. Just up all night, worrying."

"Uh huh," he answered, not believing it for a second. Angel chose that moment to launch the stuffed bear across the exam room and clap her hands in glee.

"Angel's sick," Mimi said again.

This wasn't going to easy. Roger was a giant pain in the ass when he was sick, but gave in pretty quickly to diagnosis. Mimi, however, was more stubborn. Despite her past and the fact the statistically she should be either dead or at least in poorer health than Roger was right now, she hadn't been. Her last bout of pneumonia had been almost three years ago and she's bounced back. Roger'd been on antibiotics four times this year already. Roger, in fact, had just gotten over the flu last week and his T-cell wasn't as good as Mark would like.

Reality set in and again he was reminded of why he went back to school in the first place.

He questioned if the camera was in the way, shooting a look at the cameraman to stop filming. The guy didn't move.

"She signed a release," he pointed out. "I'm not supposed to stop filming."

"He's right, I signed it," Mimi confirmed. "But I'm fine. Angel is—"

"Fine," he threw back. He took a deep breath and met her eyes. "Mimi, I need to examine you."

She looked at him for what felt like a minute, but was probably only a few seconds. "Okay," she said. "But maybe then the camera..."

"Is off," he finished and this time the guy did comply. "There's break room down the hall. Disgusting, but free coffee. Take five, okay?" The guy nodded, leaving Mark, Mimi, and Angel.

Mimi just shook her head. "I can't be sick. Roger's been sick and…" She sighed. "No lifetime guarantees. No matter what you do, Mark." She lifted Angel up and let herself lean against the exam table.

He wanted to prove her wrong. He had to.


End file.
